


Bang, Bang, Baby, You're Dead

by kavekavekav



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, M/M, Masturbation, Mid-Game, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post-Break Up, Post-Endgame, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 02:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kavekavekav/pseuds/kavekavekav
Summary: The Pathfinder despises people like Reyes - the outcasts, rebels - careless and selfish. Meanwhile, Reyes discovers that teasing the aloof Pathfinder is even more fun than he thought it’d be, dangerously so.But here comes the big reveal and they part ways soon after. Nothing goes back to normal, however, not after feelings got involved.And after that? It’s a disaster.





	1. A Better Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Billie Marten’s song called ‘Betsy'.
> 
> I wish there was an option to continue Reyes’ romance after the break-up. Like an additional dialogue or something. Also if Sloane was a better ruler or smth I’d consider the romance-and-betrayal stuff since Reyes’ message after is a good inspo for another fic hmmm.

Reyes mouth stretches into a too-wide grin. It’s not his best one by far, nor the most sincere, but he cannot be sure what would show on his face if he’d let it crumble, so he doesn’t.

He smiles, stands up and offers his hand. But he’s not prepared for the flash of absolute disgust on Ryder’s face.

“What’s this?” Ryder’s expression shifts back to the usual cold neutrality and Reyes’ eyes involuntary focus on the side of the Pathfinder’s mouth, bruised and dirty with mud. It takes a lot of him to fight the sudden impulse to come closer, raise his hand and touch his fingers to Ryder’s lips.

“It’s a handshake,” he says instead, trying for levity, keeping his voice steady. His hand doesn’t shake either, a feat to be proud of. “We’re partners now,” he adds, as if in an afterthought and wonders, briefly, if it sounds as pathetic to Ryder as it does to him.

The old leather screeches under Ryder as he moves to stand up from the couch. Once again, he regards the outstretched hand with a minute frown only to look up and meet Reyes’ eyes.

“Let’s be clear, Vidal. I’m only working with you for the greater good. Not because I like you.”

It stings. A bit more than Reyes expected it to. Even more than ‘You’re not the man I thought you were’.

He thought he prepared himself for the inevitable. Turns out, he wasn’t preparing for the right thing. His surprise however quickly morphs into anger in the face of Ryder’s casual blandness. He feels the bile in the back of his throat, as he stares right back at Ryder, speechless.

The Pathfinder in his full glory, dressed in his white armor, muddied and bloodied, straight from the battle. Back to his carefully maintained poster boy persona. Reyes never thought he’d see it again. But then he starts to wonder, the lizard part of his brain whispers to him traitorously: what if it was a rouse? The fleeting touches and shy glances? A lie. Their hushed conversations? A lie. The kiss- fucking god, that kiss--

Ryder slightly out of breath, his head held high, stepping away from Reyes’ touch. ‘That was just a distraction,’ he said, as if Reyes couldn’t see the way his chest heaved, as if their lips didn’t still tingle.

And then the rooftop, where they sat close enough to touch, passing the bottle of whiskey back and forth between them. They weren’t tipsy, not even close, but all Reyes wanted at that moment was to hold onto Ryder and never let go. With Ryder, like this, he could almost pretend to be someone better than he was. Someone equal, someone worth keeping. ‘You are someone,’ Ryder said, looking at him like he used to do - a little exasperated, a little arrogant. But mostly warm, sincere. Reyes wanted to drown in his eyes.

No. It couldn’t be a lie. Ryder never let people know him and it worked to his advantage. But once Reyes did, it was easy to see where his mask cracked. He is angry - that stoic and overtly businesslike demeanor, that’s his anger, right there. And Reyes knows well him enough.

But mostly he’s selfish and not ready yet to let him go. And why should he? He got rid of Sloane, taken Kadara from her cold, dead hands. Who’s to say, he won’t get the boy too?

He’s not about to let it end like that, not after all these months. So he readies himself for an argument, a shouting match, anything really, that would keep Scott with him for a while longer.

“You know, Ryder, you’re kind of a dick. But I worked with worse.”

But as always, Ryder doesn’t take the bait. “I doubt it,” he scowls, moving to the exit. In three long steps, he’s out of the VIP lounge.

It takes ten seconds from the last words thrown haphazardly at Reyes without a second glance to the hiss of the door as it closes itself after Ryder, lock clicking in place. It’d be no more than ten minutes before he reaches the docks and disappears from Reyes life, leaving him staring at the closed door, rooted in place.

“Fuck,” Reyes swears, clutching the edge of the table in both of his hands. “Fuck.”


	2. Resistance

Two months after getting rid of Sloane for good, Reyes finds himself back in Tartarus, buzzed on his fourth glass of Tavum.

He left the bar table littered with datapads from his various contacts, yet none of them were touched for the better part of the evening.

Since the new interview with the Human Pathfinder went online, Reyes’ eyes have been glued to the screen, playing the vid on a loop, re-watching the middle part, where an asari journalist spoke with Ryder about the relatively new outpost on Kadara.

After a quick montage of short clips from the planet, the next frame shows the Pathfinder's handsome face, framed by slicked back hair styled prim and proper, longer than they were weeks ago when Reyes had seen him last.

“You've met the 'treacherous mutineers' at Kadara Port,” the journalist starts for the fifth time. “Some think the exiles are a menace to be eradicated.”

“The exiles have as many problems as the Initiative.” Ryder delivers the line in his perfected monotone voice, paired with his signature stiff smile that once seemed so believable to Reyes. “Not every outlaw wants us dead.”

The journalist nods, eyes wide and gleaming. Reyes tunes out the rest of her monologue, busy with staring intently at the bright holograph of the Pathfinder, searching for any sign of discomfort or hurt, anything initiating that the abrupt departure from Kadara left an impact on him. He finds nothing of the sort. Just the same ashen complexion and dull, pale eyes.

The vid ends with a close-up of the new outpost: the blue, stocky prefabricated building standing out like a sore thumb on the red sand and stones, illuminated by the harsh Kadaran sun.

"It’s like you never moved,” Keema says to him in lieu of a greeting, hovering near the closed door to the VIP lounge, just as Reyes downs the rest of the liquor in on go, puts the glass back on the counter with too much force.

Her voice startles him and he stumbles with the vid, turning it off instantly. “Well, what can I say? I am a very busy man.”

Keema hums, not bothering to mask her amusement. Her abysmal eyes follow him and Reyes keeps his head pointedly turned away from her.

“A very dedicated one.”

Reyes feels the weight of the implication, lets it hover over him for a moment but can’t find it in himself to dispute it. Instead, he forces himself to take one of the datapads. He opens it, casually ignoring Keema’s gaze on the back of his neck.

“I worry,” she says simply, just as Reyes begins to read the same sentence for the second time. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

_I’ve never seen myself like this too_, he thinks to himself repulsed and resigned. And all it took was the Pathfinder of all people, to fuck him up like this.

Half a year on the dot, since that cursed meeting at Kralla’s Song. Then, a few heated banters, Ryder, playing coy, and Reyes all too happy to tease the shit out of him.

And look at him now. Drinking alone at the lounge, not even trying to get the Pathfinder out of his head. And they haven’t even fucked. Way to go, Vidal, way to go.

“I have a lot of new responsibilities.” It almost doesn’t sound like an excuse when he says it, placing the pad back on the table. He busies his hands with a cigarette - a blend of Amanita jatanum, some sort of Angaran plant or other and real tobacco, what a treat. “Things to do, reports to see.”

“And keeping tabs on the Pathfinder is a part of those ‘things to do’?”

“It’s always good to keep our allies close.” It falls flat, and he doesn’t need to see Keema’s face to know that he just dug himself a hole. He bites the butt of the cigarette and tries not to remember the taste of Ryder’s lips, mixed with whiskey and stale tobacco.

“That’s what humans call it now? ‘Allies’?”

Reyes chooses not to deign that glib with a response. He keeps the cigarette stuffed between his teeth and reaches for the lighter, getting it to work on the first try.

Keema sits down next to him, takes a cigarette out of his pack and lights it as well when he offers her the lighter. She breathes it in and keeps smoking once she finds the blend to her taste. It doesn’t keep her silent, however.

“You look terrible.”

Reyes snorts. He cannot help himself. “The work will do that to you.”

Keema looks at the stacks of datapads pointedly, though she knows very well that there is not much she can accuse him of. Reyes does his share, more than, even at the price of his sleep. But he thrives on it, his new position, the responsibility. And it’s not the business that keeps him up. At least not tonight.

After Ryder’s departure, Keema politely ignored Reyes’ worsened mood and avoided speaking of both the Initiative and the Pathfinder himself. Through the weeks that followed she still refused to pry. She expected Reyes to deal with the situation in his usual way but between the secrecy of his newfound position and the staggering amount of errands he had to deal with, all Keema could see was her friend, strangely lost.

“Why won’t you just contact him?”

“Contact him,” Reyes laughs, like the prospect actually amuses him. “To say what? What’s there to talk about?” He crushes the unfinished cigarette in a half-full ashtray. His hand feels suddenly too empty, so he grabs his glass and refills it, takes a good, long sip. “He got his outpost, we got our port.” It's sounds rehearsed. Like something he repeated to himself at least a dozen times.

The tip of Keema’s cigarette smolders and she taps the butt on the edge of the ashtray, to shake the ash off. She bids her time, doesn’t want to anger Reyes, but she can feel him hurting, so she starts, “if it's all that there is then--”

“What else is there?” Reyes interrupts her, getting on his feet. He swallows, surprised by his own outburst. “I played him, he fucked me over, took the outpost and went off, like it didn’t mat---” The alcohol loosens his tongue and he curses, pouring himself another glass - two fingers - and downs it all. “I can’t fucking stand it. Why him? I don’t need it. I don’t need him.”

“Maybe it isn’t about the needing,” Keema throws in, taking a drag of her cigarette, watching Reyes wilt under her scrutiny.

He stares at her, with his warm eyes wide open, dazed, like he never used to be. Different from the young man Keema remembers from months ago. A chatty one, walking in with a swagger, introducing the Pathfinder to her after weeks and weeks of talking about him, eager but guarded, still very like him.

Keema stubs the cigarette, pushes herself close enough to rest her hands on Reyes’s arm. “You could just call him. Explain everything.”

“Explain what? That I thought he was a valuable asset? That I got off on making him mad - he’s so fucking stiff and proper.” Reyes sits down, with his head in hands, only to stand up again to begin pacing. “That I thought he was naïve enough for me to keep the truth from him? That I got so roped into him and-- No.” He sits down again, something definite in it, final. He pushes the empty glass away from himself. “I don’t need it right now. I got everything I wanted.”

“Then why are you so miserable?”

Reyes scowls, thumbing the pad, scrolling through the report. “I am not miserable. I have no reason to be.” An attempted attack on one of his shipments, twenty dead, none of his. “I am dealing with it on my terms.”

“Dealing.”

He takes another pad. Another successful operation. Well done. “Is there a reason for your visit?”

“Pathfinder, coincidentally.”

“What is it about?” Reyes sighs, raising his head from the pad, expression hard.

“We had... a problem with missing cargo. From Ditaeon.”

That gives Reyes a pause. “Somebody stole from the outpost?”

“A group of outlaws, nothing organized. They are dealt with.”

“And the cargo?”

“Returned. Mostly untouched.”

“That’s good then,” he looks down, resumes reading, brow scrunched in concentration. “Good.”

“You should update him, at least.”

Reyes shrugs like he doesn’t care. “I will when I have the time.”

The silence stretches, Reyes finishes another report, signs it, throws it on top of a growing pile. Keema sighs. With a shake of her head, she stands up, bored of watching him work.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You will.”

Reyes waits until door closes itself after Keema and only then he puts the pad down and rests his head on the table.

Against himself he wants to reach out. And the excuse of an update is exactly what he needs to contact Ryder. But what would he write? 'Hey, Ryder, the outpost is fine but you should come anyway. Come and see me'.

He scowls, recalling the last message he sent. His pathetic attempt at getting Ryder back, where he tried to lie to himself, offering friendship, as it could ever be enough. But he thought, why not, why not build up from this. So he made an idiot out of himself again, begging over the message. And Ryder didn’t respond. Surprise, Reyes, you idiot.

Reyes eyes the empty bottle with a frown. He considers ordering a new one but decides against it. He doesn’t have time for distractions. It will pass, these feelings, he'll get over them.

He reaches for the next pad and goes to work, he has a port to run, after all.


	3. You With Me

The Pathfinder's cabin is silent, save for the insistent beeping of Ryder’s terminal. A persistent reminder of an unread message in his personal inbox.

“Scott,” SAM’s voice rings loud in the near-empty space. The comm beeps again, muting him out.

Ryder’s fingers twitch. He rests his chin on the palm of his hand. With a sigh, he stands up from the chair and walks towards his wardrobe. Opens the cabinet, closes it, then comes back to his desk and sits down again.

“You have a new message on your terminal.”

“I know, SAM.”

“It’s from Mr. Vidal.”

“I know, SAM.”

Ryder’s hand hovers over the keyboard, without actually touching any of the buttons. He refreshes his inbox. _Eighty-three new messages_. Finds the one in question, then immediately checks the sender again. _Reyes Vidal_. Then the time. _Sent 15 minutes ago_. Seems about right.

Next to the name, the title says simply: _Cargo_. It does not loosen the heavy feeling in the pit of Ryder’s stomach by any means.

Before opening the message, Ryder considers deleting it without reading. But knowing Reyes, there is a chance that he actually wrote about something important. So Ryder opens the massage.

_Ryder_,

_My apologies for the whole fiasco with the outlaws. The cargo is back where it belongs if you’d like to see it for yourself_.

_Reyes_

The point is that Ryder doesn’t and there is probably no need to overseer the delivery. He got a report on it as soon as it happened. But he wants to come and it sickens him. He wants to go, but he won’t. Not in a million years.

But he has to respond since it’s not really Reyes who wrote to him, but the Charlatan. So it’s business. And if Ryder was any smarter, it would be business and business only and nothing more. But alas.

‘_Mister Vidal,_’ he types then cringes and deletes the whole thing. Next, he tries, ‘_Acknowledged_,’ but it looks even worse, so he deletes it too. Eventually, he settles on, _‘I appreciate your investment in the Initiative’s welfare_.’ It’s stiff and horrible but he signs it, full title, last name, and hits send, before he can talk himself out of it.

_Message sent_. The screen taunts him and Ryder groans, stands up, hiding his face in his palms.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. He should’ve just written, ‘_Thanks for your assistance_,’ or, ‘_I appreciate your help_’, anything really that didn’t make him seem like a total moron.

“I appreciate your investment in the Initiative’s welfare,” he repeats to himself out loud. “Jesus Christ, SAM, why didn’t you stop me?”

“I was not aware of the necessarily of--”

”Oh, God, no, stop. Let’s forget I just-- Oh, my God. Where are we anyway?”

“We are approaching Elaaden. ETA 2 hours.”

“Right on time, thank you, SAM.”

He pauses, half-way to the door. He really doesn’t feel like interacting with people. But he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do and he plasters a smile on his face and smooths the wrinkles on his uniform. He exits the cabin and immediately comes face to face with Lexi. Just his luck.

“Doctor,” he greets, forcing his mouth to stretch into something that isn’t a look of pure dread.

“Scott.” Noticing him, she takes a step back from the crew quarters and turns back to face him fully. She stares him down, trailing after him as he slips past her. “Coming to see me for your medical exam?”

Ryder winces. “What medical exam? I am fine.”

“Scott--”

“I need to check on Nomad, I’ll stop by before landing.”

Ryder hears her sigh, “I know you won’t.” He tries not to feel guilty about it.

“I am just busy!”

“I hope you’ll go to the galley, at last!” she yells after Ryder just as he leaves the hallway to head towards the cargo bay. “Remember, you need to--”

“Keep my calorie intake high, yes, Doctor, I know. I’ve been a biotic long before I became a pathfinder.”

“Scott.” The tone of her voice makes Ryder pause but it's not enough to make him turn.

He knows she tries to be objective, tries not to worry about him, but she does. She wants him to open up and it won’t really happen. She’s his doctor and Ryder is certain, she only wants good for him, both because it’s her job and because he’s her friend. But he’s also her employer of sorts and he can’t afford to be seen as weak.

“I am alright, really,” he lies, quickly. He doesn’t let himself linger.

Besides, the last person he let himself open up to turned out to be some power-hungry fucker who wanted to use him for more power, go figure. So he won’t be risking that any time soon.

The reminder of Reyes makes his cheeks burn. The only thing keeping him somewhat calm about his misjudgment is the leverage he has. Yes, Reyes could tell everyone what he'd heard from Ryder, all about the personal stuff, all about the kiss, all about everything. But Ryder could retaliate by revealing to all and sundry who the Charlatan really is and Reyes is far too smart to risk it even if his actions happen to occasionally be wild and unpredictable.

Besides nobody would believe him. The Pathfinder and an outcast? A smuggler? Impossible. And as long as he avoids visiting Govorkam System, Ryder can almost believe that too.

XXX

Turns out Ryder cannot escape neither the Charlatan nor the Collective when a message from Keema reaches him on his way from Elaaden. Something or other about a deal with a group of outcasts makes Ryder set the course and two days later he finds himself not only in Govorkam System but on Kadara specifically.

“Just say a world kid,” Drack says when Ryder passes in front of him, the stench of sweat and sulfur making his face scrunch in annoyance.

Keeping his head up, Ryder levels the docking bay with a carefully guarded look. “Thanks, but I got this,” he mutters, going for the door.

The port indeed looks quite different than Ryder remembers, yet the marketplace is just as loud and crowded as normally. Some of the residents watch Ryder closely, most of them pretend to be busy with whatever they are doing. Ryder wonders how much of this is caused by the Charlatan’s influence.

When he reaches the end of the market and opens the door, he suddenly feels like someone who just signed his own death sentence. Inside, in a dimly lit room, by the table further back, sits Reyes. Ryder didn’t expect to get week in the knees at the sight of him.

He gulps. “Vidal.”

When he sees Ryder, Reyes pushes himself up. He looks good. Great even. Sans his usual mismatched armor, he wears a dark leather jacket, thrown over the same gray shirt. Ryder chokes off the shock, but something in his eyes still gives him away. A bit of feeling that he couldn’t crush, because Reyes smiles, wide and warm like he’s actually glad to see him, as if he wanted it as much as Ryder did.

“Ryder, good to see you. Take a seat.”

Ryder opens his mouth as if to say something. Wordlessly, he closes it, only to repeat the motion twice more before stammering, “where is Keema?”

Reyes sits down, leaving an empty place beside himself. “She had something to check on. I am sure she’s on her way.”

Ryder swallows. He walks slowly towards the table, grabbing a chair. He remains stubbornly on the opposite side of the table, facing Reyes, who seems completely unbothered by it.

Silently, Reyes offers him a drink, looking like he wonders whether Ryder would refuse as always or if he’ll accept in spite. He smirks. “Don’t worry, drinks on me tonight.”

“No, thank you.” Ryder checks his comm, slightly annoyed. He hoped to be back early. Hoped not to meet Reyes. “What is it about?”

“I don’t actually know, Keema wasn’t very forthcoming with me either.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ryder’s frown makes Reyes' smile grow wider. He watches the Pathfinder like a hawk, lifting a glass to his lips and taking a sip. “Do you want me to comm her?”

Ryder is tempted to agree. He scoffs instead. “No need.” His bad mood finally reaches Reyes because he puts his glass away.

“It might take a while.” Reyes says it with a hint of palpable satisfaction.

It pleases him, Ryder thinks gritting his teeth. Watching Ryder come when he’s called, like a well-trained dog.

“I have time,” he states with a completely straight face, which for some reason seems to irk Reyes, makes him lose his composure.

“Do you? Because you were too busy to visit even once in three months,” Reyes seethes, looks like he doesn’t regret saying that, doesn’t care.

Ryder straightened involuntarily, his hands tighten into fists under the table. “I had no reason to,” he huffs, looking away. The smell of alcohol is strong in the air, enticing. Makes it easy to remember its taste, hot and bitter on Reyes’ skin.

They must have thought about the same thing, because Reyes’ eyes drop to watch Ryder’s lips for a split of a second before he snorts. “Really. That’s all you have to say after--”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Reyes shakes his head. He tries to catch Ryder’s gaze and when he fails, he snarls, “then just listen--”

“Reyes--”

“I didn’t want you to leave once you learned the truth! It was good, what we had, really good and--”

“Good? Yes, I suppose jerking me around and making me do your dirty work must have felt really good indeed!”

“I didn’t do such thing!”

“Sloane party,” Annoyed, Ryder starts counting off on his fingers. “Zia--”

“Sloane party,” Reyes catches Ryder’s hand, traps it under his. “The storage, the rooftop.” His voice drops down to a low purr. “Then my room after and--”

Ryder yanks his hand and jumps to his feet, heart still beating wildly inside his chest. “Oh, fuck off Reyes--”

“You looked at me like I was worth something! Is it so wrong of me that I didn’t want it to change?”

“It wouldn’t change!” Ryder yells, banging his hands on the table. Reyes’ eyes widen in shock and he stares at the Pathfinder in a quiet amazement. “If you’d just fucking tell me!”

He takes off. Through the buzz of his own pulse, he hears the door open in a whoosh. In the hallway he speeds past Keema, almost doesn’t notice her and leaves without a second glance. “Another time,” he says to her quickly, offers no further explanations.

Startled, Keema looks from the disappearing silhouette of Ryder back to where Reyes sits with his mouth hanging open.

“I want him,” Reyes says before he can truly come back to himself.

"I know," she sighs. “I know you do.”


	4. Impatient, Are We?

The stench of copper fills the air just a second after a loud pained howl tears through the silence. Reyes takes a step back, kicks one of the chair’s legs and let it fall on the ground with a bang.

The outlaw bound to the seat trashes wildly, head bouncing on the dirty floor a couple of times, leaving red smears on the tiles.

“Are you ready to talk yet?” Reyes speaks for the first time in an hour. Truth be told, he would be perfectly happy to break the guy all night long but he actually needs the information, so he can’t really indulge himself this time.

The man gags, trying to take a deeper breath. His ribs are, if not broken, then definitely bruised. “You fucker,” he gasps between breaths and Reyes tsks, reaching for a knife.

“Wrong answer,” he says, crouching down. In a swift motion, he buries the blade to the hilt in the outlaw's thigh, enough to the side to avoid an artery.

He tunes out the screams, watches the drips of blood stain the thin material of the guy’s pants until his datapad distracts him, alerting about a new message. It’s been beeping for the better part of a quarter and Reyes is tempted to take a break and check it.

He glances at the wiggling man sprawled on the floor. A trail of saliva flows down his chin, mixing with blood.

Reyes huffs, impatient. “Where did your boss keep the caches?” When the answer doesn’t come, he grabs the knife by the hilt and moves it a little and goes on with it until the screams stop and a small sigh rattles out of the outlaw’s throat.

He cries out, takes a shuddering breath. “Please” he starts, then heaves. Reyes takes his time, waits it out, wipes the blade on the outlaw’s shirt until it’s clean and shiny again.

“Eos,” the man grunts at least, trying to twist away in his restrains. The tape stretches around his body, digs into his skin, rubbing it raw. “They’re on Eos.”

Reyes frowns, trailing the tip of his blade closer to the open wound. “Where on Eos?”

“In the Wastes!” In his haste, the man tries to move away, his head lands on the ground again, legs spasming uncontrollably. “Halfway to the Fourth Giants, please, ugh, please...”

“Now, was it so hard?” Reyes stands up, hiding the knife inside his back pocket. He assesses the man with a slight grimace. If he’d only cooperated form the start, he could have saved Reyes some time and energy.

At any rate, it is done and with the odor of bodily fluids clinging to his clothes, Reyes takes his leave, grabbing the pad as he goes, leaving the outlaw curled on the ground, bleeding out.

Outside the room he points to a couple of guards and nods his head. They’ll know what to do with the body.

Kadara is almost silent this time of the night, too silent for Reyes’ liking and he considers stopping by Tartarus for a quick drink but quickly changes his mind.

On his datapad, one of the messages says: _Human Pathfinder, update_, and Reyes stops in his tracks, tumbling the message open.

_Pathfinder’s ship docked in Kadara at 2:11 am. He was seen entering Kralla’s Song twenty minutes later. Nothing more to report._

To say that Reyes is surprised would be an understatement. Especially since the last Reyes heard of him, Ryder was spotted orbiting H-047c. Try as they might, his contacts couldn’t find any more vital details, but whatever Ryder was seeking there, it seems that he was successful in finding it. As if there could be any doubt.

The biggest surprise, however, is his docking choice. After their last meeting, Ryder had his talk with Keema without Reyes present. He brought an entourage, left as soon as the meeting was over and later he made sure to keep any contacts to the bare minimum. He’s been back four times, keeping himself strictly out of the port, sticking to his outpost at all times.

But there he was, back on Kadara, in a bar of all places. It’s hard not to wonder if Ryder chose Kralla’s Song instead of Tartarus only to spite Reyes. And knowing his mean streak, it’s more than likely. It’s stupid and irrational but it stings nonetheless. Still, Reyes is like a dog with a bone, and he never really knows when to stop, where to draw the line with Ryder.

So he goes to the bar, waits for Ryder by the door, shrouded by the shadows provided by the small hallway. He listens to the five songs in a loop for fifteen minutes, smokes four cigarettes before the door opens with a hiss and the sound of booming laughter spills outside.

The source of this sudden outburst proves to be one of Ryder’s crewmates - the old krogan named Drack. He stops short as soon as he notices Reyes. His beady eyes gleam in the semi-darkness, surveying Reyes up and down.

“Great,” he rasps, keeping his voice low so it doesn’t carry. “It’s you.”

Reyes doesn’t respond, partially because he can’t find anything to say but mostly because as soon as Drack is done talking, Ryder stumbles out of the room right after him. And what a sign does he make.

He’s smiling. One hand grasping the door frame for support. His cheeks are flushed high - judging by the smell it’s from the alcohol. A thin trickle of blood trails slowly over his lips and his tongue darts to lick it off, between a huff of laughter.

Reyes finds himself strangely wrong-footed, torn apart between offering a pack of medi-gel and just sucking the blood off Ryder’s lips himself. His revere doesn’t last more than a split of a second however and he is not given any time to decide on an adequate course of action.

They moment their eyes meet, Ryder stops laughing instantly but to Reyes’ astonishment, he doesn’t stop smiling.

“Reyes,” the Pathfinder says, watching him intently. He licks his lips again, more of a nervous tick this time and Reyes’ eyes follow the motion voluntarily while he struggles to maintain eye contact.

The name tears out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “Scott, I--”

“Fuck’s sake,” Drack mutters to himself, pushing past Reyes with a disgusted grunt. He eyeballs him then stalks down the hallway. “I’ll wait outside.”

It’s strange. Not at all what Reyes expected. He thought-- He doesn’t really know what. But Ryder is still looking at him with the same lopsided smile and Reyes clears his throat, rooted in the spot.

It’s Ryder who takes the first step, pushes himself off the wall until they’re only a couple of inches apart. His hand rests on Reyes' chest, right where his heart is beating wildly out of control. From this close, Reyes can taste the hint of eezo on the tip of his tongue mixed with the strong scent of cheap but hard liquor.

In the daze, he thinks he can be forgiven that the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “you’re drunk.” But it’s worth the way Ryder laughs again, a bit startled.

“I am a biotic,” he says like it should be obvious. And it probably is but Reyes hasn’t slept in what feels like a week and he didn’t expect to see Ryder like this, right now. “I’ll burn it off.”

It seems like an excuse, like he’s, for some reason, trying to reassure Reyes. But Ryder is moving his hand lower in a distractedly slow manner and Reyes always was a weak man, always easy to give in, greedy for more.

So it’s only natural when their mouths meet in a rush, teeth crashing, carelessly and urgently before Reyes pushes Ryder further against the wall, crowds him in. It’s as good as he remembers. The liquor, the tobacco.

Ryder is buzzed, Reyes can clearly taste the alcohol on him. He shakes with the adrenaline, squirms in Reyes’ arms, moans high and shameless when Ryder pushes a thigh between his legs.

Short fingernails leave long lines over Reyes’ back through the shirt and he swears, biting back a moan of his own. Ryder’s skin is scorching against his chest, even though all the layers but before Reyes lets himself go any further, he clings to the last parts of his brain that still remain active.

“Let me get you to my room,” he breathes out and regrets it even before the whole sentence is out of his mouth. Wrong move, Vidal.

Ryder’s body stiffens under Reyes’ hands but he doesn’t move. Reyes waits, like a skittish animal, with his heart in his throat, ready to leap.

“Why?” The nails on Reyes’ back dig deeper. Ryder’s teasing, his voice rough and velvety. “Afraid someone will see you with me?”

“Afraid?” Reyes repeats as if affronted. He traces his lips over the bared side of Ryder’s neck, feels him shudder. “No. That would do wonders for my reputation,” he smirks, fitting his teeth over Ryder’s shoulder, not biting, not yet. “But it’s not the safest place to be.”

Ryder hums, moves one of his hands higher, buries his fingers in Reyes’ hair, tugs the strands playfully. “I thought you’re more adventurous than that.”

His tone is light, jesting. But it sends an unpleasant chill down Reyes’ spine. There is something off, something he can’t place.

He pushes himself away from Ryder’s warmth, just so he can look him in the eye. His pupils are blown, more black than blue.

“Me, adventurous,” he whispers, searching for something and finding nothing. Just like the last time. “I am nothing of the sort.”

Ryder’s mouth twitches. It’s not a grimace per se and it’s gone just as quick as it appeared. He bites his lip, eyelids dropping low. Reyes swallows against the sudden heat.

“Well I want you here, right now. “

Reyes laughs, he cannot help himself. It is perhaps not the best reaction he could have given, judging from the piqued expression twisting Ryder’s handsome face.

He’s overwhelmed. By the magnitude of his desire, the sudden longing. Though above all, he’s hopelessly charmed. He loves this, he realizes. How easy it is, with Ryder, how effortless.

For a moment, Reyes thinks Ryder saw right through him. But the frown is more for show than in any real threat. His eyes gleam dangerously and Reyes can only gasp as a clever hand finds itself on his abdomen, low enough for the tips of Ryder’s fingers to fit under the waistband of Reyes’ pants. “How about that?”

Reyes is a man enough to admit when he’s defeated. With one hand on Ryder’s neck, he tugs him closer until their lips meet with even more urgency than before. He grabs and pulls until there’s no space left between them.

One of Ryder’s hand moves to rest on Reyes' lower back, just above a pocket. Close enough to feel the datapad as it buzzes, without a warning. A message pops up with a loud ping and Ryder takes his hand away as if it's burned.

“Ignore it,” Reyes breathes into the space between their lips but the damage is already done. Ryder untangles himself from Reyes, face frozen into a careful look of neutrality. “Scott, no,” Reyes pleads, taking a long breath. Fucking hell.

Ryder is impassive, the shield is back in its place. He fixes himself with sharp, stilled movements.

“Scott--”

“Give Keema my regards,” Ryder says, lips red and slick with saliva.

Reyes shoulders fall, just like that, all the strength he had is now gone. He rests his back against the wall, in the same spot where Ryder stood just a second ago and watches him go, all long legs and steady stride.

The metal is still warm there, and Reyes seeps the heat for a long moment, trying to get his bearings. It takes a long time for his breathing to even out. But when it does, he reaches for his comm, scrolls through the list of his contacts, searches for Keema and as soon as they connect, he begins, “Get the port in lockdown, if you will.”

The answering silence stretches for a bit too long but Keema does respond, voice high and alert. “What, why? What happened?”

What a question. There are about a dozen answers Reyes could give her. Twice as many excuses. But he’s done with letting it slide, so he huffs, “Ryder happened.”

Keema snorts like it’s the funniest thing she heard, a joke she’s waiting for Reyes to join in on but when it doesn’t happen she swears, too quickly for Reyes’ translator to pick up. What he can understand is a sharp, “are you joking?”

If it’s a reason Ryder needs, Reyes will give it to him. All the time and all the necessary excuses to keep him coming back to Kadara, keep seeking Reyes out.

“Not at all.”


	5. Uncertainly Entwined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s not what I had in mind for this chapter, it just ran off I guess. I really feel like it’s too much of Ryder running away but they can’t get it together yet bc I have some more angst planned. Lol, bet you can really tell that’s my first fic longer than a page lol (third in total wowers) so any pointers would be appreciated also is it explicit yet or what lamo started out general, last chapter had to change to mature will I end up writing smut I sure as hell hope not bc I’s suck at it. No pun intended.

When the door to the VIP lounge hisses open, Reyes immediately knows who to expect. So he takes his time because it’s obvious that Ryder, of all people, won’t start an argument out in the open like that. Feigning impassiveness, Reyes places his glass back on the table, not even trying to look like he’s busy. He smirks, laying his eyes on Ryder, who stands stiffly, in his full armor - a perfect image of the calm before the storm.

Eventually, they are granted some semblance of privacy. The door slides sluggishly, drowning the sounds of music and chatter. And as soon as the lock slides into place, Ryder scowls. “What are you playing at, Vidal?”

His voice is hoarse and he seems worse for the wear. In the semi-darkness of the room, the chest piece he’s wearing appears more ruddy than white and his shoes as well show traces of dried blood and sand. From the way his hair sticks to his neck, all wet and clammy, it’s easy to deduce that he was just coming back from a check-up on Ditaeon, in a big hurry to leave the planet.

The port, however, stays in lockdown since early morning hours. And so it happens that Ryder’s apparent attempt at slipping away without a goodbye proves to be fruitless.

“Scott, I was hoping you’d stop by.”

“You-- What--” Ryder doesn’t yell, though it’s clear that he wishes to. He sputters, staring at Reyes as if he’d grown a second head. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he forces himself to remain calm. “What. In the world. Are you doing?”

Oh, he’s furious alright. But the blush that crawls high on his cheeks, makes him look pretty inviting. Reyes doesn’t let his smirk vanish, on the contrary, his smile grows wider as he leans forward on the couch.

“You know very well what I am doing.”

Ryder's expression shifts between flabbergasted, impressed and irritated before he grits his teeth. Apparently, all it takes to make the Pathfinder speechless is a little bit of straightforwardness.

“Enough with this, you--”

“Selfish asshole?” Reyes slides off his seat and stalks towards Ryder. He stops just shy of touching, close enough to notice the nervous way in which Ryder’s larynx quivers when he swallows.

Ryder looks to the side, avoiding Reyes’ eyes. He’s hesitant but all of a sudden he deflates. He doesn’t shove Reyes away, doesn’t try to close the gap either.

Reyes keeps his distance, not too much, just enough to leave a little room between them. _There’s your excuse, Scott,_ he thinks, waiting.

It takes a while and Ryder’s voice is peculiarly soft when he says, “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

Reyes' eyes fix on Ryder’s lips almost instantly and he has to bit back an innuendo. It’s too late however to keep the thoughts entirely out of his mind. And judging by the panicked expression on Ryder’s face, he’s been thinking about the same exact thing.

“Do you think it’s a joke?” Ryder mutters, more embarrassed than angry.

“The kissing or--”

“The lockdown Reyes!” Ryder scowls, takes a rushed step close and gets all in Reyes’ face. “It’s the last time I’ll ever dock in your fucking port, you can’t do shit like that!”

“Well I just did.”

“Yeah, you sure did, no shit, Reyes.” In times like these, it’s eerily easy to understand how young Ryder really is and how well he keeps his temper in check when he’s not trying to impress anyone. And since Reyes is probably the very last person in the galaxy whose opinion Ryder cares about, he got closely acquainted with that side of Ryder. “I can’t fucking stand you, why would you--”

“You’re smart.” Reyes interrupts swiftly, though he rather enjoys watching Ryder so heated up. “Why do you insist on being oblivious?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Ryder’s not in denial, just deflecting. Besides, he was never a particularly good liar, always wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Then let me spell it out for you. Stop being a coward, Scott, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh, fuck right off!” Ryder doesn’t take kindly to being patronized. Reyes, who’s familiar enough with Ryder at this point, isn’t at all taken aback by the sudden outburst of anger thrown in his direction. “I fought a fucking Architect, like an hour ago I am not scared of _you_!”

Reyes knows it, just as he knows the exact time the giant Remnant appeared and when it entered the orbit, the damage it caused, down to the nearly exact amount of injures it dealt. After all, nothing happens on his planet without Reyes’ notice, whether in the port or the badlands and the reports he received stated briefly that there were no causalities on the Pathfinder’s team.

It does explain all the pent up energy though. Ryder’s in one piece, as he should, so there’s no need to worry but Reyes wants to ask, he really does. He’s not about to leave the last comment alone though. “Then why do you keep running from this? From me?”

“What? I am not--”

Before Ryder can turn his head, Reyes takes a hold of him and grips his jaw, forcing him to look up. Reyes is only slightly taller but he rarely gets a chance to examine Ryder that closely. The flutter of Ryder’s eyelashes, the specks of color in his otherwise dull eyes. How his pupils dilate at the proximity.

Reyes can try to hide it all he wants, but there’s no use when Reyes can read him like a book and it emboldens him to take action. He just wants to test the waters first.

He’s aware that Ryder’s attracted to him, has been at least since the party when they kissed for the first time. But Reyes wants to know if it’s just a casual interest on Ryder’s side, completely physical or if it could be something more, something deeper. Because from the talks they had and everything they shared it seemed like there’s a special connection between them, even if Reyes tried to do everything in his power to pretend it didn’t mean anything. And he can’t just ask now, especially since Ryder is likely to run off at any given moment.

But it’s hard to gauge Ryder’s reactions and it’s not like Reyes has an artificial AI in his head to tell him what everyone is feeling. And with the help of SAM, by this point, Ryder has to know how much Reyes wants him, so it’s only fair if he does a little teasing first. “Look at me and tell me you don’t want me. Just tell me. I’ll leave you alone if that what you want.”

Ryder’s shoulders hunch but he looks skeptical when he asks, “would you?”

A week ago? Hell, even yesterday, Reyes would let him go. But not now, not after he got a taste of Ryder, not when he knows he has a chance. “Not really,” he says, doesn’t want to lie.

A startled laugh slips past Ryder’s lips. His eyes crinkle in amusement. Unconsciously, he leans forward so Reyes’ hand which up to this point has been cupping his cheek, slides lower, over his bared throat. It’s hot and rough against his skin and Ryder shudders. He cannot blame it on the alcohol this time.

And Reyes notices it as soon as it happens, because his smile turns positively wicked. “I could make it so good for you, Scott. If you just let me.”

Ryder swallows reflexively while Reyes traces the length of his neck with slow, languid strokes. He can feel the rapid heartbeat on the tips of his fingers.

“I know you,” Reyes says in a low and intimate voice. The expression on his face twists into something unreadable and soft but he radiates self-confidence when he speaks. “I can give you want you want.”

It rattles Ryder, the cockiness and pompousness of Reyes’ demeanor. But mostly because he’s right and it’s true, he does know Ryder, probably more than anyone else out there.

But Ryder tries so hard to keep people at bay, to be the person they think he is. Except with Reyes. And because of that slip-up, he got himself into a monumental mess. He doesn’t want to go down so easily, doesn’t want to give up without a fight, even if it’s a lost cause. “You know nothing about me.”

And they both know it’s a lie but Reyes doesn’t mind playing along. “Oh, really?” He asks, takes a step back, lets his hand fall down and Ryder almost stops him. “Then push me away. If you don’t want me. You know how to do that.”

Ryder’s grimaces, looking to the side, wishing for something to drink, some plausible excuse for his dizzy state. Earlier, when he was under the influence and high on adrenaline, it was so easy to just take what he wanted, to forget about the consequences and ignore his own pride in exchange for a moment of pleasure. He’s sober now, but he still wants Reyes, of course, he does, how could he not when he looks at him like that, like he’s not just _the_ Pathfinder to him, not a savior but only a man.

He doesn’t want to say that, doesn’t want to beg. It’s humiliating. But he wants, and he wants and at last, Reyes takes pity on him. He stretches his hand almost casually, then lays it on Ryder’s arm and when it's not shrugged off he tugs Ryder close, moves his hands lower, circling his wrist. He touches him gently, like he cares, and Ryder can’t stand this, he really can’t so he closes the gap between them and crushes his mouth to Reyes who accommodates the intrusion gladly. He lets him take the reins, clutches him close until they have to break away, breathing hard but unwilling to let go of each other.

Ryder’s skin smells overwhelmingly of eezo when Reyes buries his face in the crook of his neck. His skin tastes like salt and sweat and he wants to bite down but satisfies himself with brushing the skin there with his tongue.

Ryder’s not fast enough to stifle the moan and he flushes red, gasping and writhing under Reyes’ ministrations.

“Sensitive?” Reyes whispers, tugging the buckle on Ryder’s chest piece. He’s missing his helmet and both of his arm and leg pieces. He must have entered the Tempest before he came, left them there.

“Not really--” Ryder starts only to moan again when Reyes’ teeth bite down oh his neck, leaving a mark. “Fuck, Reyes!”

_Likes to be bitten_, Reyes adds to his mental list of important facts about Ryder. Right after _short temper_ and _trust issues_ which may or may not be partially his fault.

There’s a loud crash right outside the door and Ryder glances away, tilts his head to the side as if he’s listening, to SAM, probably.

“You’re going to take off again?” Reyes jokes. His voice is deliberately light but he catches Ryder’s arm in a hold tight enough to hurt.

“Funny,” Ryder bites back, shrugging the chest piece off. He throws it carelessly on the ground, fumbling with the zipper on his suit, hands shaking.

“Afraid someone will come?”

“Not particularly,” he answers in the same time the lock flashes red and SAM’s voice cuts through the faint music.

“Security lock activated.”

Reyes bursts out laughing, has to rest his head on Ryder’s chest, arms shaking. He can’t remember ever laughing this hard, feeling so light in someone’s presence. It’s hard to fathom how he survived, without Ryder, can’t imagine his life without him in it.

When he raises his head back, Ryder’s eyes are comically wide and his face is bright pink. Maybe it’s the ezzo on his skin or the way his lips glisten from the earlier kiss but somehow Ryder seems more arousing than sweet and Reyes has to swallow, assaulted by a sudden rush of heat.

Ryder looks stunned though and Reyes feels the need to relieve the tension. “I thought you were more adventurous than that,” he parrots while Ryder’s blush darkens.

“Well, you said you weren’t,” he explains himself hastily, shrugging a little, looking anywhere but at Reyes. “I am just looking out for you.”

“Are you really?” Reyes grins, running his hands up and down Ryder’s torso, pulling at the zipper.

Grateful for the distraction, Ryder quickly takes over, batting Reyes’ hands until he backs off.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Reyes says when the zipper is finally open and Ryder shrugs the suit down to his hips. He’s quickly distracted, however, greedy eyes glued to the expanse of Ryder’s bare chest, toned and covered in scars. None of them fresh.

“Jesus. Do you always talk so much or am I special.”

“They didn’t call me Sheena for no re--”

Ryder groans, rolling his eyes. “Oh my God.”

“But you are, though,” Reyes amends. “Special.”

Ryder blinks, face slack. “Well,” he mutters. He grips the material of his suit, stretches it in his fingers. “I am the Pathfinder.”

“But you are more than that,” Reyes says like it’s not something out of the ordinary like it’s a common fact he knew all along.

He probably even means it, Ryder thinks bitterly. It exactly what he wants to hear, word for word and it reminds him, how easy Reyes can see trough him, say just the right things, how he can play him like a fiddle. “I am already here, no need to sweet-talk me into this.”

“That’s cold, Scott. See, one of us has to keep the romance going, otherwise--”

“Come the fuck on, take your fucking shirt--"

“Easy,” Reyes chuckles, shrugging the jacket off. Self-satisfied, he leans back, smirking.

But it’s not easy. Nothing about this is and Ryder wants to turn back, doesn’t want to make himself vulnerable, so he pushes his hands inside Reyes’ cargo pants, pulls them open.

Reyes gasps, thrusting his hips closer even as he tries to argue. “Your suit--”

“Fuck my suit.” He doesn’t need his clothes off. They aren’t lovers, they can fuck on the ratty couch in a dirty bar, Ryder has done it before, on Earth. It doesn’t mean anything. He might be in love with Reyes, and the bastard might know it for all Ryder cares, but he’s not a dog on a leash, he won’t be lead on like that.

His hand is already wet from sweat but he licks across his palm for good measure. He ignores Reyes’ eyes on him, dark and blown. It doesn't take much and he already looks wrecked and so stupidly handsome. Ryder has no intention on lingering, doesn’t want to watch him like that. He tugs the collar on Reyes’ shirt until the hem rips and loosens. He puts his mouth on the uncovered patch of skin and sucks until Reyes trashes beneath, wheezes his name.

Reyes clings close, one hand buried in Ryder’s hair, the other leaving red marks on his hip. He isn’t in the mood for teasing anymore, with the heavy weight of Ryder on his lap, his hands battle-scarred and skillful. That’s what he craved, ever since the party, to just take Ryder in that storage, right on top on a crate. Then it got worse, when he wanted him more than anyone else, needed to keep him close, put his mouth on him and now he can’t really take it slow, not when all he had to keep the edge off was his own hand.

It’s different from what he imagined. He thought about it more often than he probably should. He would be smooth - in his fantasy - work for it and when Ryder gave in, he’d be mouthy and blunt. But everything is different when it’s real. He both loves and hates how raw Ryder makes him feel, how effortlessly he undoes him.

With the hand on his hips, he urges Ryder to go faster, helps him rub the hardness on his thigh with sharp jerks and no finesse but it feels so damn good and it’s fine if they won’t last long, they have all the time in the world now. It’s that thought that finishes him, though if asked Reyes would deny it. Ryder follows soon after as if he was just waiting for it. Ryder’s come stains Reyes’ shirt, lands on the jacket but he’s far from being bothered by it.

Ryder takes his hand back, licks it clean while Reyes stares, with mouth wide open. He smirks like he knows exactly what he does to Reyes. As soon as he’s done Ryder pushes himself away, hands already busy, tugging the zipper, buckling the chest piece back on. His movements sharp and purposeful, his posture tight. He doesn’t seem even a bit winded.

Sweat and saliva are cooling off on Reyes’ skin and he shivers, eyes still glued to Ryder, who picks up the jacket and sloppily clean it with his hand. “Sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” Reyes rasps, busy admiring, with vicious satisfaction, the round bite mark on Ryder’s neck, high above the collar. It’s a good look on him. Very good. “Scott--”

“You still a professional?” Ryder’s question catches Reyes off guard. He doesn’t even notice when Ryder drops the jacket. Reyes lets it fall back on the couch, catches Ryder’s hand instead.

'Let’s keep this professional', Ryder said, back in Farah’s hideout, ages ago. Reyes remembers that now, his own answer. 'I'm always professional.' What a load of bullshit.

Reyes smiles, a tired, little thing. “Not with you,” he says, holding on a bit too tightly. “Never with you.”

It makes Ryder hesitate. Reyes looks honest, placid. Too placid.

Ryder tugs his hand out of Reyes’ hold. “See you later,” he says, turns on his heel just as the lock flashes and the door slides open.

He will be back and there is no need to pretend otherwise. He doesn’t have to like it, though.


	6. Surreal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Science jargon who? Spaceships what? I don’t know her.
> 
> Just a fair warning, there’s no Reyes in this chapter, so feel free to skip it. He’s mentioned and spoken about, but that’s about it.
> 
> I also finally had the time to review this shit and correct some mistakes. I mostly write after work so sorry in advance, though I'll try to make sure to re-read chapters before posting.

Six hours on the dot, after returning on board of the Tempest and Ryder’s hands still can't stop shaking. The bruises and scratches on his knuckles have healed completely by now, leaving only a faint red line which too, will be gone in another couple of hours.

Ryder sits hunched on the ground, head lolling off the edge of the couch. He’s yet to move, despite the insistent beeping of his terminal. The light flickers on and off, on and off, non-stop since he stumbled inside his room in a daze, escaping from the Med Bay without an ‘all clear’ from Dr. T’Perro, under the pretense of getting some sleep. Thought the hours, Ryder finds himself trying and failing multiple times to keep a hold on himself for long enough to respond to the messages by himself. In the end, his hands refuse to cooperate and his mind goes into million different directions and he gives up, half-way through the first message.

Unprompted, SAM lists the messages in the order of importance, then summarizes them in the shortest way possible, while Ryder trembles, hands buried in the folds of his hoodie. A few brief updates from the other Pathfinders, another half-assed apology from Tann, a congratulatory letter from Keri T'Vessa and a short message from Reyes Vidal. This one, SAM leaves for last.

It’s not exactly effusive, only two sentences that Ryder reads on his own. _I’ve heard about Khi Tasira. Are you alright?_

With a shaky breath, Ryder reaches for a small bottle of energy drink, stacked in a pile on his coffee table. Besides a light tremor, his hand holds the bottle steadily when he uncaps it with his teeth.

SAM’s voice module clicks on and Ryder hesitates for a while, but there’s only silence afterward so he gulps the drink down. It’s lukewarm and decarbonated but it soothes the painful dryness of his throat.

“You know I am allowed to drink those, right?” he rasps, throwing the bottle away. It bounces off the coffee table and lands somewhere under the couch. “It’s approved and everything.”

His caffeine habit isn’t usually a reason for SAM’s scorn. This time, however, it has more to do with the recent panic attack Ryder is still coming down from.

“In moderation, Scott. Which is the opposite of your usual intake of caffeinated beverages.”

“Is that disapproval I hear? I am a biotic, I need sugar.”

“Your blood sugar and electrolyte levels are within the optimal range. However, Dr. T’Perro suggests you should incorporate more protein into your next meal.”

Ryder stops paying attention when his omni-tool flashes again, signaling another update from Suvi. She’s working on the second set of data taken from Hefena. _It’s a slow process,_ she writes. _But it shouldn’t take more than a day. We’re making progress. It’s a good time to tie loose ends, God knows what will happen_.

A cold shiver runs down Ryder’s spine. A day. At the same time tomorrow, they could be on Meridian, could be _home_. They were relatively lucky so far, and there shouldn’t be a reason to worry. But everything happens too fast, too soon and the insistent sense of dread settles heavily over Ryder and clutches him tightly, paralyzing.

Ryder swallows against the lump in his throat. He deals with the impending panic in the same manner he always does. By focusing on something else. He scrolls down his mailbox, checks a couple of different messages, hovers over the one from Reyes, re-reads it, types: _Yes_. Then, for some reason, can’t bring himself to hit send. He tries once more, with a ‘no’, this time. Closer to the truth but he deletes that one too.

“Scott.”

Only half-listening, Ryder stares at the message and the empty box below, where his response should be. It’s just a simple question. But the answer is neither simple or easy. Up until now, Ryder did his absolute best to forget all about the last clusterfuck of a meeting with Reyes. Wasn’t exactly easy, with the persistent memory of Reyes’ hands all but branded in Ryder’s mind. But he made do, he was busy, he thought that infatuation would pass, like all his crushes before. And he was so sure of himself. But there he is, in the middle of a war, thinking about Reyes fucking Vidal.

“Scott,” SAM repeats, as impatient as an AI can be. His voice is loud enough that Ryder takes notice of it.

“Yes?” Ryder says, looking up, trying to smooth out the grimace.

“I said: Dr. T’Perro suggests you should incorporate more protein--”

As if Ryder could stomach anything right now. “Yeah, I hear you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ryder isn’t sure if SAM can even feel annoyed, but the tone in which he responds couldn’t come out closer. “I detect a substantial decrease in your heart rate as well as blood pressure and a simultaneous increase in sweat production, indicating--”

Here we go again. “Yes, I lied. You’re such a busybody. I will eat, but later, okay?”

“I assume you would prefer to reply to Mr. Vidal’s message first?” A dick move, for an AI, though SAM’s intention isn't rude in nature. Probably.

“No.”

“Again, your pulse--”

“God, yes,” Ryder turns the omni-tool off, hides his head in the crook of his arm. It’s pathetic. He’s an adult, a freaking Pathfinder. But he can’t help it. “Yes, I want to write back. No, I am not going to, let it go SAM.”

SAM isn’t known to _let go_ of anything, ever. “I’d like to remind you that we are connected in a way that allows me to detect any and all changes in your anatomy. Therefore, your attempts at being deceitful are unnecessary.”

“I know that. It’s just embarrassing.”

SAM falls silent and he doesn’t speak until Ryder raises his head. “Perhaps talking to your sister would be beneficial?”

“I--” That idea gives Ryder a pause. He’s spoken to Sara briefly over the comm just after the fight, keeping the conversation short and light. Sara knows him too much to believe his lies and he doesn’t want to burden her, not when she’s still fragile. But sitting here, alone, Ryder misses her even more, now that she is awake. “No. She’s... still recovering.”

“Sara is exceptionally resilient. Her condition has improved greatly over the course of two weeks following her initial awakening. In Dr. Harry Carlyle’s opinion, her prognosis is excellent.”

Closing his eyes, Ryder lets his head fall back on the couch. He doesn’t say, _’_I bet you wish she was the Pathfinder, it’d be so much easier to work with her’. He knows it’s unfair, to both of them. He does what he can, strives to be better. Yes, he is a decent asset to have, a proper soldier. He’s good at fighting, good at following orders. Not exactly a Pathfinder material though. Besides, Sara and Alec were always so similar, she’d take over the responsibilities straight away and love every second of it. She’d have Tann in her pocket in no time, Evfra would actually like her and she’d probably shoot Reyes in the face, wouldn’t even feel bad about it.

The terminal pings again, startling Ryder right out of his impromptu pity party.

“It’s Gil Brody.” SAM’s seems eager to lose the thread. ”He’s asking for a meeting. Should I forward a response?”

“I am on my way,” Ryder groans automatically, pushing himself up. He clenches and relaxes his hands a couple of times before deeming himself ready. “Cargo bay, right?” He asks, just to be sure.

“Yes. Mr. Brody hasn’t departed from the area in 41 standard hours.”

“Has he slept at all?” Ryder frowns. “Wait, no, don’t answer. I know he didn’t.” It’s enough to get Ryder out of his head. The reminder, that he isn’t the only one affected.

He fixes his hoodie, brushes the hair out oh his eyes for some resemblance of composure, then grabs a bottle of energy drink and sets off, down the hallway, all the way to the cargo bay.

When he enters the room, it’s Vetra who notices him first. She’s sitting on a crate, near the entrance, eyes briefly darting upwards from her omni-tool, talons clicking as she types. She takes a second to wave but goes back to work right after.

The momentary pause seems to distract Gil and he spins around, taking a step from the terminal. “Look who’s here,” he greets when Ryder to approaches him. He takes note of the energy drink Ryder is carrying and grabs it as soon as it’s offered. He twists the cap open and immediately downs half of it. “My favorite Pathfinder, hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Ryder laughs, watches Gil finish the drink. “You called?” He asks, hiding his empty hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

Gil crushes the bottle, leaves it on the desk to clean up later. “So we kicked Archon’s ass and all, but I’ve been thinking--” It takes a while for Gil to spot the redness around Ryder’s eyes, his tense posture. “Are you, uh, alright?”

Ryder keeps his face as blank as possible. It’s a shame though, he was never particularly good at poker. “Yes?”

“Really?” Gil purses his lips. “I mean after you sneaked out again, Lexi’s been telling everyone to go easy on you, so, what’s with that?”

Ryder’s hands clench into tight fists. It’s a good thing they’re hidden. “Same thing as always I suppose. Doc’s just mad I didn’t stay for a checkup.”

It’s a plausible explanation. Nobody in their right minds would stay for an examination if they didn’t have to. But Gil wasn’t born yesterday. “Why didn’t you?”

Ryder shrugs, “I went for a nap.”

“Oh, wow, lucky you. Why do I not buy it though?” Gil squints his eyes, hums. “Oh, right. It’s the eye bags. They haven’t been here last time I saw you. And don’t start with that ‘_they’re hereditary, Gil, you’re going blind Gil_.”

“You got me,” Ryder huffs, but he’s more amused than anything. “I was... busy.”

“Busy?” Gil’s brows lift briefly as he looks Ryder up and down. “With what?”

Ryder smiles, takes his hands out of the pocket in one swift motion and rests them behind himself, on the console. “You see, I’ve been witting a poem--”

Gil’s curious expression shifts between exasperated and panicked before it settles on amused. “Oh, haha.” It’s a familiar game they play. Gil teases Ryder about losing at poker, Ryder recites Gil’s poem, having already learned it by heart. “Look if I care.”

Gil sighs looks to the side. Once he turns again towards Ryder, the smile disappears from his face.

“I am alright, Gil,” Ryder says eventually, not for a second believing his own words.

“You’re always alright, huh.” It comes out too worn out to be an accusation. It seems like the lack of sleep takes its tool on Gil at last.

“Mhm”. There’s no point in being dishonest, not with someone so adept at reading people which is why Ryder decides to change the subject. “You’ve called me here for a scolding?”

“Not intentionally. I did thought you were sleeping, after everything. Should’ve known better, I guess.”

“I am not the one pushing 42 hours.”

Gil fixes Ryder with a glare. “Tempest doesn’t run itself. What’s your excuse?”

“I had a lot of messages to review, you know.” It’s a bad one. Ryder doesn’t need to see Gil’s expression to be certain of it. Still, it’s the best he can muster at this point. “Anyway, what do you need me for?”

Gil looks at Ryder askew for a second, then shakes his head, resigned. “Okay,” he starts, clearing his throat. “Okay. So the system of kinetic barrier shielding we have on Tempest is effective against most weapons of the usual caliber, right?”

Ryder blinks. “I-- Yes? Yes, it is. Is that a trick question?”

“No. Just, our shielding is good. But! It could be better. With a simple upgrade we could change it so it doesn't only halt the incoming linear force but actually sort of bounce it back!” Gil strides back to the terminal, beckons Ryder closer. “So, hear me out, I have a print right there. See, we need a few parts but I can totally do it, I think. If we re-calibrate the mass effect field protector, we could hopefully refit the multicore shielding so when the Tempest creates a rapidly oscillating kinetic barrier it--”

“Whoa, slow down. I got like, half of it.” Science jargon was never something Ryder could consider his forte, but it is coincidentally another thing Sara excels at. “You want to upgrade the Tempest, that’s what I gather, yeah?”

“Well, in a nutshell, but--”

“Let’s cut the chase. You need parts,“ with a tired exhale, Ryder carries on, “and I am on board with that, where do you want to go?”

A fleeting expression of surprise crosses Gil’s face, like he didn’t expect Ryder to agree so easily. “Vetra already found them. She- ugh, she can arrange a meeting with a merchant so all we need to do is go and pick them up.”

“We have some time before Suvi’s done.” Ryder nods. By all means, it’s one of the easiest errands this week, if not this month. “Where is the merchant?”

“Well, she’s on Kadara....”

Because of course, she is.

Ryder’s face stays impassive and he blinks a few times while Gil looks around nervously. In the distance, the constants clicking noise stops abruptly.

“Okay,” Ryder says slowly. “It’s close by, we can go there right away.”

Gil’s mouth opens a few times before he chokes out, “But... is it okay, I mean, with you?”

Ryder hands spasm. He clenches them hard enough to feel the edge of the console bite into the meat of his palm. “Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because of the rumors and--”

Ryder’s heart drops into his stomach. “What rumors?”

Gil falters. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to continue. He looks down, avoiding Ryder’s gaze before uttering, “Vetra said--”

“Hey,” the turian rushes to stand from her crate. It’s hard to gauge her reaction but her mandibles flare in a way Ryder learned to associate with nervousness. “Leave me out of this.”

Still, Ryder needs to know, and nobody on his ship is more informed than her. “Vetra?”

She glances at Ryder, mutters to herself something Ryder’s comm doesn’t catch. “Alright, alright. There’s the talk.” Walking closer, she pauses in front of the console, facing Ryder. “One of my _friends_ says that you and Reyes are awfully... chummy.”

It’s Ryder’s turn to gawk. “Chummy?”

“Yeah, apparently, “ she flips her hand to stress the last word. “Because of the info that’s out there about the Collective and how you got the Charlatan up your sleeve or something, you get what I mean and now they talking about the Pathfinder getting it on with an outcast--”

Oh, shit. “It’s just a rumor,” Ryder cuts in with as much composure as he can manage, though his heart is going haywire.

“But is it though--” Gil manages to exclaim before he’s quickly interrupted by Ryder.

“Absolutely, just a rumor. Outcasts will say pretty much anything about the Initiative, so there’s nothing to worry about and if Tann has a problem with that, he can comm me anytime.”

Vetra waits for the literal word-vomit to end, mandibles flaring in amusement. “Just, you know, Reyes doesn’t deny it--”

“Doesn’t confirm it either. You know him, he enjoys making a ruckus and--” Ryder stops the knee-jerk reaction to argue and bites his tongue. “Fuck.”

“Well, you know him best,” Gil shrugs just as Vetra chokes out a laugh. “Just be sure to visit him so he doesn’t ground us this time.”

“Yeah, guys, laugh it up,” Ryder mumbles, stalking back to his cabin.

To say that the news doesn’t affect him would be a lie. And he’d never admit it out loud, but he does look forward to seeing Reyes. And it’s a thought that scares him much more than the Archon ever did.


	7. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters to go. Maybe I'll finish at least one more before the end of this month but I can't promise anything bc I am busy af :(

To Ryder’s relief, the landing bay is significantly less crowded than usual, which, for Kadara’s standards is almost unnatural. Most of the workers bustle around unloading cargo, for once, paying no mind to the Tempest’s arrival. Even so, Ryder finds himself lingering for a long while. He didn’t plan on leaving the ship at all, excusing himself with a poorly chosen lie about an important call or other. But the closer they were to Kadara, the harder it was to keep the thoughts at bay.

There’s no way in hell, Reyes doesn’t know about the rumors, in fact, he had to be one of the first people to hear them. And for some reason, he decided to let them slide instead of nipping the gossip in the bud. Knowing him, he probably thinks it’s hilarious; the Initiative’s poster boy and an exile, a lowlife smuggler no less. Or, he has something else in mind, some kind of plan Ryder will be the last one to know about. That thought alone makes Ryder check himself eventually. He wipes his face with a sleeve of his hoodie then takes a deep, deep breath and leaves the bay.

Nobody seems to stare at him excessively until he walks into the marketplace. Immediately after, a couple of collective agents he knows in passing spot him in the crowd. They watch him like hawks from their guard post, in a not _exactly_ subtle way and with that, the last chance of retreat fizzles out.

With no other choice, Ryder brushes his hair back with an almost casual gesture and goes straight to Outcast HQ. Speeding a bit, he walks past the guards who both nod to him and he swears one of them grins. It’s enough to rattle him but Ryder waits for the door to open and goes in, wiping his clammy hands on his pants.

As he steps in, he’s struck by a sudden and striking realization. He just crashed a meeting and didn’t even call.

He expects to see Keema, maybe Reyes too, at worst. Instead, all six people in the room turn to look at him and he can’t for the love of everything imagine what they are thinking.

It’s Reyes who recovers first. He stands up, eyes roaming all over Ryder; taking in the plain hoodie and the bags under his eyes. There’s a flash of surprise before he covers it with a smile. “Scott.” The name is out of his mouth in an exhale, all relived and weak as if he didn’t plan on speaking at all. “Good to see you.”

Aside from Reyes and Keema there are a couple of people Ryder remembers seeing with Reyes before. Three bodyguards from the cave and the sniper. The guy’s mouth twitches as he regards Ryder and it prompts him to speak at last.

“I can wait,” Ryder says, and it comes out so flippantly that even he’s surprised by it.

Reyes shakes his head. “I was just thinking about you.” He grins, self-satisfied and completely shameless like he doesn’t even care about the audience.

Maybe it’s the tension or the awkwardness but for whatever reason Ryder can’t seem to get a hold of his own tongue. “In the middle of a business meeting?”

Reyes barks a laugh. “You should know.” His eyes twinkle in the semi-darkness of the room as he drags them up and down over Ryder’s body until their eyes meet again. “The blame is entirely on you.”

It’s as far from what Ryder expects to hear as it can get. The gaze on him is like a physical touch, a reminder of their last time together and it renders Ryder speechless, making him shiver, under the scrutiny.

He’s saved by Keema, who with a side glance at Reyes, stands from her seat. “Alright,” she says, with an unreadable expression, but whatever Reyes sees in her face, makes his grin even wider. “Let’s take a break.”

And with that, Ryder is ushered into the room, to let the others pass, which forces him uncomfortably closer to Reyes.

When they’re left alone, something in the air shifts. Reyes frowns in a rare, tell-tale sign of worry. It lasts only a second before the easy smile is back on his face but the momentarily change is such a stark contrast to his normal, cocky attitude that it takes Ryder by surprise. And just like that, it dawns on Ryder: why Reyes prefers to work from shadows, why he tries so hard to keep his distance. He’s an excellent liar, but awfully easy to read once you get to know him.

It’s an appealing time to have this epiphany. And it’s laughable, really, how long it took Ryder to understand. But the knowledge brings more questions than answers and Ryder can’t deal with the consequences, not when the stakes are this high, not when he might be dead by tomorrow. At the same time, he finds it exhausting, running away from Reyes when all he wants is to stay. Still, Ryder remembers the humiliation, the dreadful feeling of the ground, disappearing from beneath his feet. Sloane’s body, cold and lifeless.

“I--” Ryder starts, but the rest of his words are lost, somewhere between his brain and his throat.

Reyes watches him with open concern now. And it’s disconcerting - it’s not at all how they do it. It’s more than casual flirting and easy banter. _What is this_, Ryder wonders. He wants to ask, but he’s scared he might actually get an answer this time.

“I see you made some changes,” his mouth says instead. He looks around the room, pays close attention to the new furniture, the couches replacing the throne and a row of chairs. He uses the distraction to move away from Reyes, all the way to the window.

The only answer he gets, however, is silence, and when he turns around, Reyes is standing rooted in the same spot, watching.

_Mr. Vidal displays several symptoms of stress_, SAM’s voice rings in Ryder’s head. _His heart rate is elevated to 140 beats per minute_.

“Thank you, SAM,” Ryder responds out loud, just to see Reyes wince. But he’s disappointed - Reyes’ face stay impassive. “What happened to the throne?”

Reyes shrugs, rests his hip on the edge of the table, slips his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. “New ruler, new decor,” he says, pointing at the ceiling with a sharp jerk of his head, to where the blue banners used to hang. “There’s been a lot of changes on Kadara,” he adds, eyes glued to Ryder’s face. “If you want a tour.”

Ryder can imagine where that thought goes. A dark valley, a warehouse. Or Reyes’ room. Hard to decide which one is worse. “I’ll pass,” is his automatic response. It’s not a definite ‘no’. On the contrary, he expects Reyes to talk him into this, as he always does.

But Reyes stays stubbornly silent as if he’s content just to look. And it would even be plausible, Ryder could easily fall for it. Because despite SAM's words, Reyes appears to be an epitome of composure.  
  
It’s bizarre and unnerving, so as soon as the silence settles Ryder wants to break it. Even so, he cannot find any words that would not expose his feelings, so he stands there, in the ill-lit room before he sighs. “Can you stop staring at me like that?”  
  
“It’s a good look on you,” Reyes deflects, trailing his eyes over Ryder’s white, pressed hoodie. “Very casual.”  
  
The sweatshirt is a far cry from Ryder’s uniform but it’s still crisp and proper, a standard-issue with a large Initiative logo, bright, standing out. But Ryder’s not that gullible. “Now that I know you approve of my fashion sense, maybe I should just change.”  
  
“Feel free to take the sweatshirt off,” Reyes offers easily, pushing himself off the table and striding closer. “Scratch that, you definitely should.”   
  
For a second they’re close enough to touch. Ryder swallows, tries to convince himself that he _doesn’t_ want it, but at the very last moment Reyes turns to sit on the couch.  
  
“For the sake of appearance, huh?” Ryder watches as Reyes leans back, drapes one arm over the back of the settee.   
  
“Of course,” Reyes pats the seat next to him expectantly with one hand, drums his fingers on the leather until Ryder takes him up on the offer.  
  
With some reluctance, Ryder plops down, a bit further away from Reyes, leaving a space between them. The leather is cold and sleek to the touch, a little unpleasant, though Ryder doesn’t have time to focus on the sensation. As soon as he sits, Reyes slides closer.  
  
“I’d offer you a glass of Everlast, but something tells me you’re not here to unwind.” There’s a clear challenge in his voice, as though he’s daring Ryder to contradict him.  
  
“I only drink Akantha.” And it’s partially true. He does prefer sweet liquors, but since the last drink he had at Vortex when he blacked out for the rest of the night, he sticks to energy drinks, exclusively.  
  
On the table nearest the exit lie a variety of bottles that somehow escaped Ryder’s notice. “That can be arranged,” Reyes says, ready to get on his feet to bring one of them over.  
  
“No!” Ryder protests, stopping Reyes from moving with a hand on his arm. He’s quick to take it away, feeling his face heat up. “No, I mean... You were right, I just-- I am not here to...”   
  
While he babbles, Reyes rests his hand on top of Ryders thigh, right by the edge of the hoodie. Ryder tenses, straightening out in his seat, but Reyes seems either oblivious or simply unconcerned about Ryder’s distress. “Then,” he presses, rubs the material in between his two fingers, pushes the edge further. “Why are you here?”  
  
“I--” It’s an excellent question. One, Ryder would love to know an answer to. “I’ve heard some rumors.” 

“Rumors?” Reyes repeats, leaning forward. He doesn’t sound too curious, however, apparently busy playing with Ryder’s shirt. “Good rumors, or bad rumors?”

“I’ve heard that people are talking about, well, me and, ugh...”

One of Reyes’ hands slips under the material and rests on Ryder’s bare hip. The touch is so unexpected it almost makes Ryder jump out of his skin. But it’s a familiar sensation and Ryder’s body welcomes it unconsciously.

“You and?” Reyes prompts, fixing his attention back on Ryder’s face.

“You know, Vetra said...” Ryder tries, worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “She said...”

Reyes aims his strokes higher, then slides back down, glacial-slow. Each time venturing slightly lower, tips of his fingers catching on the waistband of Ryder’s pants. It’s meant to be distracting and it is working in Reyes’ favor, Ryder’s resolve falters with each stroke.

Then, a sudden doubt cuts through the haze of Ryder’s desire. From up close, Reyes looks far too pleased with himself. More than the occasion calls for. “Why were you nervous?” Ryder decides to ask, when the nagging unease that overcame him turns unbearable.

Reyes blinks, genuinely perplexed. “Your friend said I was nervous?”

“_I am_ asking why were you nervous. Before.”

Reyes pushes himself further, so he’s hovering over Ryder. At the same time, his hand moves higher on Ryder’s chest, over his heart, where it drums madly beneath his palm. “Well, you have that effect on me,” he claims, while his free hand joins the other in a lazy caress.

“You’re trying to distract me.” With a huff, Ryder lays his hand on top of Reyes’, over the shirt. It does the trick, but not for the reason he thought it would.

The slight, pained frown is back on Reyes’ face. He takes Ryder's hand in both of his, touches the angry, red line on his knuckles. “Are you... alright?”

Ryder nods. “Dr. T’Perro took care of the worst of it. It’s just, the smaller ones...”

Reyes’ fingers spasm and Ryder trails off, shocked into falling silent. Reyes’ face is a mask, but his eyes betray him. He surges forward too quickly for Ryder to identify the mess of emotions behind them. The kiss is abrupt and rough, a distraught clash of teeth, over before it really began. Reyes, for once, doesn’t taste like liquor but he can recognize the tang of Tupari in Ryder’s mouth.

“Energy drink?” He gasps, puts his hands on Ryder’s shoulders. He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead, he drags Ryder closer. Their lips meet again, more slowly this time and when they eventually part, it’s only because they’re both out of breath.

Restrain is not really Reyes’ top priority right now, not when Ryder pants, all flushed out and eager. But he holds back the best he can. Seeing Ryder shook Reyes to the core, even if it was a relief, especially after the news that came from Khi Tasira.

After Ryder went to the Remnant City, he vanished off Reyes’ radar completely. Reyes couldn’t get any updates on him. Not even from the official Initiative’s servers he paid good credits for. Nothing, for almost a day and after that, only a brief update. _The Pathfinder is alive_, was all it said. And Reyes got stuck, miles and miles away, imagining the worst scenarios for hours on end until Ryder docked on Kadara, safe and sound. Well, more or less.

Reyes chances another look at Ryder’s hands, moves his thumb over Ryder knuckles absentmindedly. Though it seems that Ryder has enough coddling for one day. Swiftly, he takes one hand away and slips it underneath Reyes’ jacket, eager to continue.

Reyes’ lips curve in an amused smirk. “I am not to going to fuck you here,” he says, then chokes out a startled snort at Ryder’s scandalized expression. “So you can either go with me to my room,” he continues, unyielding. “Because you look like you haven’t slept in days, or--”

"I didn't come here to talk", Ryder cuts in with a grimace. He's clearly ready to argue but Reyes doesn’t let him continue.

“Oh?” Reyes tips his head coyly to the side. “You didn’t come to talk, didn’t come to drink. Did you come just to see me?”

At an instant, Ryder’s cheeks turn scarlet. He draws a quick, shaky breath, tries to wrench his hand away but Reyes tugs him back down, doesn’t let him flee. 

“People are already talking,” Reyes says, twining their fingers together. “You might as well stay.”

A hint of mortification twists Ryder’s features. “Ugh,” his breath catches in his throat but he sighs through his nose and scowls. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh,” Reyes’ body shakes in a fit of silent laughter. When he’s done, he tries to speak several times before exclaiming. “You meant _those_ rumors.”

Ryder narrows his eyes. “You think it’s funny?”

With a single brow raised, Reyes looks pointedly at their joined hands, then back at Ryder. “And you don’t?”

The expression on Ryders’ face is uncertain but he blinks it away and purses his lips. “I just don’t appreciate people prying into my life.”

“Scared I’d destroy your reputation?” Reyes’ response is delivered with ease and light, teasing smile. There’s something in his tone however, something fragile, familiar.

Ryder's thoughts shift to the night after Sloane’s party. When he said to Reyes, with his heart stuck in his throat, ‘You’re something to me.’ And God, he meant it. He still does.

“No,” no answers with far too much honesty. Though he wants to, he can’t bring himself to lie about it.

Reyes stares at Ryder for a good, long while, searching for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it then, because the next thing Ryder knows, he’s being pulled into a sudden, close embrace. 

Out of everything that happened since he stepped a foot on Kadara, this, he finds the most unexpected. They fit together seamlessly, like two puzzle pieces. The embrace is firm but Reyes’ is always gentler than Ryder would have given him the credit for. So he lets himself be held, doesn’t fight it, and before long, he melts completely in the warmth of Reyes’ arms.

The weariness catches up with him and in no time at all, he succumbs to sleep, lulled by the repetitive motion of Reyes’ hand stroking his back.

He dreams of Earth. Blurred out memories of the life he had there, a mess of sounds and swirls of color. When he stirs, it’s an hour later.

The first thing he sees, when he opens his eyes is Reyes’ smile and it’s not the usual one, with a side of his mouth curled up, but a gentler one, smaller. Through the haze, Ryder clings to the warm body in front of him, before his weary brain catches up with him. When it does, he jerks back so abruptly, he doesn’t fall only because Reyes is holding him, with one hand around his waist.

“How long was I out?

“Not long.” Reyes puts his datapad on the seat, screen up. A long report of sorts, he scrolled through lazily before Ryder awoke. With his freed hand, he wipes the saliva out of the corner of Ryder’s mouth. “Go back to sleep.”

Ryder’s shoulders loosen by the slightest fraction. This peacefulness is a sort-lived one and it shatters as soon as SAM speaks.

_Scott, Dr. Anwar was not able to determine the actual position of Meridian. However, she found a correction for the Remnant navigation system_.__

SAM’s voice sounds loud and clear and for a moment Ryder can’t decide whether the AI addressed him privately. Reyes posture remains at ease and he looks at Ryder with a fixed expression, so he must have not heard anything.

_By using this correction, you can override Remnant ship controls and send them on the way to Meridian_.__

The world around Ryder stops. Through the buzzing of his own pulse in his ears, he can barely hear the last sentence. 

_The crew waits for your decision_.

Ryder's eyes widen and his face goes a shade paler right away.

“What’s wrong?” Reyes grasps Ryder’s shoulders trying to meet his eyes.

Ryder stiffens. He slips through Reyes’ hands, scrambles up, eyes wide and alarmed. 

Reyes stands up after him in a hurry. “Scott, what--”

“I can’t, I-- I have to--” 

“Calm down, tell me--”

Ryder shakes his head. “Meridian. I need to--” He falters, brings a hand to his forehead, then takes a step backward. “I need to go.”

Reyes follows him as far as to the door, then stops with a hand raised towards Ryder. “Okay,” he says, drained out and hollow. His hand drops. “Okay, go.”

Ryder hesitates with one foot past the doorstep. He glances away but Reyes notices a look of conviction in his eyes.

He leaves, and it’s harder than any other time but once he’s gone, Reyes doesn’t stop him.


	8. A Trail Of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How come all the other LI’s get a pre-ending scene and they couldn’t throw in a comm call with Reyes, oh fuck off honestly.

When the vidcon terminal rings for the second time Ryder picks it up right away. He rests his hands on the console, splays his fingers over the counter, leaves them like that until they stop trembling. “I’d like to remind you that this is an official channel,” he says before Reyes has a chance to get a word of his own. 

The hologram that shows up is distorted, edges blurred and flickering out, but the face that looks back at him is a clear and sharp image of Reyes, though his mouth moves with a slight delay. A cacophony of noises reverberates first, an echo of working engines and landing shuttles.

“You gave me no other option, Scott,” is what sounds out, in between the racket. Reyes’ lips are pressed into a thin line but he isn’t angry, mostly just disappointed. “If you thought I am going to leave it like that, well, surprise, I am not.”

Ryder's hand hovers over the ‘end’ button but he pushes the next one over and switches the conversation to his private channel instead. “I was working.” It’s nothing more than an excuse, even if it’s partially true. 

Since the Tempest arrived in Civki System, Ryder stayed in the meeting room, for hours; glazed-over eyes glued to the window, tuning out the endless calls and messages that just did not stop coming. None of them were important, save for a couple of notes from the other Pathfinders. Besides that, everyone insisted on knowing how he’s faring, though, Ryder suspects, all they really want is to make sure he’s not going to let them down. That’s why he ignored the first call until he saw the name glowing on the screen. _Reyes Vidal_. And it was enough to melt his resolve.

Ryder always found it easier to hate Reyes, when they were far away from each other. When he didn’t have to see the Charlatan for a while. It became more and more difficult in time. Even now, Ryder can only ever lie to Reyes at a distance. But Reyes knows how to read between the lines.

“I didn’t think you’d pick up, ” Reyes admits, though it clearly pains him to do so. “I know I lied to you. But you keep-- ” He sighs, looks away. A moment of silence passes and as he starts to speak again it’s less calm and more determined, albeit rather incoherent. “Look, can you just--”

More excuses. It’s not something Ryder wants to hear right now. “Is there a problem?” He cuts in, impatient.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” The comment turns out snider than it was intended and Reyes’ expression twists in irritation. “You left like _that_, as you always do. Didn’t even tell me you’re going after the Archon. You keep me at arm's length-- It’s been months, Scott, months. Can’t you let the shit show with Sloane--”

Ryder’s hands bang on the counter before he has the mind to stop himself. “It’s not about the goddamned Sloane!” The slap echoes in the sudden silence before Ryder breaks it, hissing out through gritted teeth. “You lied to me for months, lead me on for three weeks straight only to make an idiot out of me Reyes!”

Reyes' mouth hangs open for a whole second it takes him to clear his throat. He blinks at Ryder, momentarily taken aback. “It was not my intention to-”

“Uh-huh,” Ryder tsks. “What was your intention then?”

And it’s probably not the best moment to have this conversation, nor the right place. Ryder stares at the hologram with a deep frown, almost hoping that Reyes would put an end to it, right then and there. But it seems that he, too, had enough.

“I was afraid, Scott. I was actually afraid. I told you once, remember? Why I came here in the first place. And I was so close.” Reyes admits, doesn’t even wince. But he does laugh, an ugly, broken sound. “Then I met a new contract, you see, a human Pathfinder--”

Ryder’s face sets and remains as expressionless as his tone. “Stop this, Reyes.” He closes and opens his mouth to say something more, but stops himself.

Reyes takes it as a sign to keep going. “You came around and you ruined everything for me.”

_Right back at you_. Ryder scowls but he keeps that thought to himself. “Oh, poor you. Sloane’s dead. You got _everything_ you wanted.”

A wry smile curls Reyes’ lips. He looks Ryder up and down, eyes ablaze. “Not everything.”

“We had our fun,” Ryder mutters while color rises in his cheeks. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “What more did you want?”

“Fun?” Reyes’ brow shoots up at attention, the mirth draining from his face. “That’s all it was for you?” And that’s coming from a man who once wanted to leave Ryder guessing. “I know it wasn’t for me.”

Ryder crosses his arms over his chest and stubbornly refuses to answer. Reyes is prepared for this eventuality and continues with his story. “You can say my plans got... altered. I still had to make sure Sloane was gone of course, the sooner, the better and a duel seemed like a perfect idea.”

“A duel,” Ryder repeats, distaste clear in his voice. “You mean an assassination?”

Reyes shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it like that.”

With a short, heavy breath, Ryder turns away, so he doesn’t have to look Reyes in the eye. “I saw your sniper,” he says, then falters and brings a hand to his forehead. “Before he took the shot.” He doesn’t have the pleasure of seeing Reyes shaken very often, but on the occasion he does, it’s a sight to behold. He stiffens, like a bird caught in a trap, eyes growing wide, as he works through the implications. “I wanted to push her away then... Just to spite you.” Ryder massages his temples, more than a little embarrassed. “I really considered it.”

“But you still let him strike her.”

“Yes, I did,” Ryder snaps with a grimace. “And it makes me your accomplice.”

“I didn’t--”

Ryder snorts, shakes his head. It’s not that he’s too broken about Sloane’s death. He didn’t trust her, didn’t think she’d agree to help him set an outpost on Kadara. And he knew that he had a better chance with the infamous Charlatan than her. He didn’t know how right he was. Even so, when SAM alerted him about the sniper, Ryder almost let his feelings got the better of him. Still, a part of him that wasn’t curled up in shame, wanted to believe it was all a mistake. That there was another, less painful explanation for Reyes’ sudden reveal. But, when the shot had hit its mark, there was no doubt about it.

“I wanted to tell you. After I was sure you didn’t care for her one bit,” Reyes reveals, cautious and unsure if he should speak more. “By the time I had a chance to come clean I...”

The realization that strikes Ryder is so painful, he forgets to breathe. He tries to say something, but all he can hear is the rasp of air moving through his throat and the rapid beat of his heart. “You didn’t plan on telling me about it at all,” he chokes out eventually.

Reyes closes his eyes. “No,“ he confesses. He's quiet for a moment, thinking. When he opens his mouth again, he speaks as if he's choosing his words carefully. “I hoped I could make it quick, preferably with you off the planet. Then you’d come back, get the all-clear to set your outpost as you wanted. And nothing else would change.”

Blood rushes to Ryder's cheeks, this time more from anger than humiliation. He grits his teeth against the rush of conflicting emotions. “Nothing would change?” He repeats, astonished. His feelings twist around his throat tightly, like a noose. “What the fuck, Reyes?”

For the first time since they met, Reyes raises his voice. “Then what was I supposed to do?” His dark eyes bore into Ryder’s with a touch of desperation. “I didn’t want to lose you!”

“Wow,” Ryder blurts out, the harshness of his glare softening. “And you thought it would work?”

“Yes,” Reyes nods stiffly. “Right until I saw you with Sloane,” he breaks off with a sigh. “I didn’t expect it to be you.” Reyes smiles, though it's strained. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“Save it.” Ryder shakes his head fiercely, looks anywhere but at Reyes. “Just keep your end of the deal.”

Reyes cocks his head and gives Ryder a slow, searching look. “Don’t worry, I promised, didn’t I?” There's an uncomfortable pause before he speaks again. “Though, I suspect, it means nothing to you now.”

“It doesn’t.”

Reyes straightens, reeling as if he'd been struck. “I am trying, Scott.” He watches Ryder for a moment before continuing. “Tell me what you need me to do, to make things right between us. Whatever you want, I can give it to you.”

Ryder’s expression turns doubtful, but after a long pause, he looks back at Reyes. “Everyone’s sure you’re going to screw me over.”

Reyes’ expression turns pained. The hologram distorts and blurs as if Reyes moved too fast for the vidcon to keep up. “Everyone’s wrong,” His voice comes out in a tinny whisper, whether intentionally or not.

A mocking, half-smile tugs at Ryder’s mouth. “And I am supposed to take your word for it?”

Reyes promised himself he wouldn’t beg. And since he already broke that promise, there’s not much left for him to do. “You know me better than anyone, so make that decision yourself,” he sighs, resigned. But as he locks his eyes with Ryder, he’s unable to hide the longing. “I wish I could be more than I am, for you. But I can’t. That’s what I meant.”

Ryder worries his lower lip between his teeth. “I never asked you to be more than you are.”

“But I wanted to be.” Reyes’ normally controlled voice shakes. He composes himself with obvious effort. “So I thought, if lying is what will make you stay with me longer, then it would be worth it.”

The clear regret in Reyes’ voice mollifies Ryder and he readies himself to speak but someone else beats him to it. A second voice chimes in, indistinguishable through the vidcon. The hologram moves his head to the side in a blur. A deep frown mares Reyes’ face. He gives his interlocutor a sharp nod then turns his attention back to Ryder.

“You should go,” Ryder observes, even as Reyes begins to shake his head. “It’s not the time for this.”

“Then let’s make some,” Reyes demands with a hint of unhinged determination in his eyes. “When this is over--”

“When this is over,” Ryder breaks in. His tone is more bitter that he wanted it to be. “I could be dead and buried.”

Reyes makes a low, guttural sound, his hologram catches up with a hitch. “Don’t say shit like that.”

Ryder huffs, like the thought of his own demise doesn’t bother him. But if his hands weren’t already clutching the counter, his fingers would be shaking.

Reyes has to know this because his expression softens. He moves again, too swiftly for the hologram to follow and his silhouette fuzzes up and dims. “I’ll be in Civik in three hours,” he says when he reappears. “Two, if they can get me a shuttle stat.”

“We’re almost in Khi Tasira.” Thanks to Suvi, they have a huge head-start but they don’t know yet if the coordinates are correct. And Ryder can’t afford to wait on Reyes to comfort him. “So, don’t rush on my account.”

Briefly, Reyes appears to be disappointed. “You’ll be fine,” he says finally, and his voice breaks off in the middle. Ryder wonders whom he wants to convince more, Ryder or himself.

“Sure,” it comes out flat and Ryder corrects himself with more vigor. “I am the Pathfinder.”

“Scott, I--” Reyes lifts his hand but it falls through Ryder’s arm like a mist. He swallows visibly, then shakes his head. “Take care.”

“You too.” With this final word of farewell, Ryder presses a button and the line disconnects, before he can add something he might regret later. “See you on the other side.”


	9. Somebody Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a fcking dumdum. An absolute idiot. I had to rewrite this chapter from scratch because I deleted the file, lol. Why? Don’t even ask me. It’s terrible now and shorter. Thank fuck for backup files tho, so I could at least recover a small part of it. I was thiiis close to deleting the whole thing instead. Being an idiot is so hard.

Reyes’ hands guide the shuttle on auto-pilot, by muscle memory alone. At this point, he could shift trough the floating mess of destroyed spacecrafts and falling rubble with his eyes closed. Which he might as well do, considering how often his attention strays from the front shield in favor of keeping the best view of the vault-like building, where Ryder and his team have disappeared a while ago.

The steadfast combat traps Reyes in a loop, a haze, disrupted briefly by the arrival of two more kett vessels, that circle around until they settle over the grounded Hyperion, ready to fire.

Reyes’ comm buzzes. Mostly white noise at first, then Evfra’s voice comes out, crisp with static. “Two Dropships, incoming.”

“On it,” Reyes says, more to himself than anyone else. He steers closer, aims before the ships can approach any further. Takes a shot. Then another. “Done and done.”

He tunes out the violent uproar of explosions and the constant gunfire until it suddenly stops. But not for long.

“Reinforcements!” Kandros’ voice booms through the line just as a fleet of massive Dreadnoughts descents from above, lining up in a loose triangle.

But then something else happens. The fleet hovers over the Ark, motionless. The other vessels stop firing, and one after another they withdraw. Some of them fall, taken down. Those that remain, disengage from the fight and scatter, fleeing the planet in a hurry.

It’s a bizarre couple of minutes, to say the least. The ships fly off in seemingly random directions only to get swiftly blasted off the sky by various troops. The survivors are followed briefly, though both the angaran forces and the Initiative militia remain as close to the Ark as possible, firing upon any spacecraft within the range.

For a moment the noise is almost too loud to bear, worse than the actual fusillade, but it passes quickly and in minutes the airspace is thick with smoke, and a stunned silence follows.

Evfra is the first one to speak. “They’re regrouping,” he states, then curses, long and drawn out. It’s scrabbled over the line but Reyes catches _vehshaanan_, _skkut_ and several other more colorful expletives.

Reyes takes his eyes off the vault door for a moment to stare at his radar. He counts the little red dots that rapidly flicker off the map one by one until there’s none left.

“They are leaving the orbit,” Kandros’ quiet, disbelieving murmur carries over the comm.

Evfra makes a low, dismissive sound, low in his throat. “It must be a trap,” he argues. “They wouldn’t leave like that without a specific order.”

“They are following the Primus. And she’s retreating.”

“Impossible. Unless--”

Reyes' hands tighten over the console, his breath quickens. If the kett are retreating, it means that the Archon is dead. Either this or--

“Ryder!” Reyes call out, reaching to his comm with one hand. “Do you copy?” He waits for an answer. When it doesn’t come, he tries again, with the same result. “Ryder, what is--”

“The Archon’s energy reserves have been cut off,” SAM interrupts in his calm, monotone voice. Joining the conversation as if he was present the entire time. “He is deceased.”

“Deceased,” Evfra repeats, dumbfounded and more than a little disbelieving.

“The terraforming network is active,” SAM drones on, continuing the update. “Meridian is now online.”

“And Ryder?” Reyes asks and the line goes impossibly quiet for a long, chilling moment before a response comes.

“He is alive.”

Reyes notices the exact moment the entrance door slides open. The world slows then, tilts. No, not the word. The shuttle swerves wildly to the side as Reyes takes a sharp turn and prepares for landing. All while watching Ryder exit the building, supporting his sister with one hand, keeping the other one clutched to his abdomen.

Reyes vaguely hears the conversation that goes on without him, registers people talking nonsense over the line. But it all amounts to Ryder’s name being repeated like a prayer, like some kind of a miracle.

When he lands, he catches a glimpse of other shuttles descending and ships docking on the vast fields of grass-like plants. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with unsteady hands then stuffs them inside his pockets, clenches them into fists and breathes. The adrenaline refuses to wear off, his chest burns even as the rush quiets down. He bites his lip until he can taste blood, keeps at it until the pain becomes enough to distract him from everything else.

By the time he stumbles out of his shuttle, Ryder is already surrounded by camera drones. His sister is nowhere to be seen, presumably taken to the med bay. Ryder doesn’t seem to fare that much better. His armor is dented on one side and he sports a large bruise over his jaw that might or might not scar depending on how fast he gets treated.

The injuries aside, Ryder looks right in his element - surrounded by his friends and illuminated by the bright spotlight, giving a speech Reyes doesn’t have to hear to know is very poignant and heartwarming. As always, the Pathfinder plays his part well.

Reyes’ first instinct is to come closer, which surprises him enough to almost trip him over his own legs. It brings him back to his senses however and he stays in his place until he sees the drones turn their cameras off. He takes another look at Ryder, and, mindful of the crowd, makes his way over, only to stop in a safe distance.

He offers Ryder only a quick smile and a wink, that’s really all he can manage. He makes sure to look his best though, well, as much as it is possible in those circumstances. Ryder’s answering smile is reasonably curt and he doesn’t acknowledge Reyes further than that.

It’s expected after all. As far as everyone is concerned, they are only associates. So Reyes does what a good associate would and trails back to his shuttle, fishes out a cigarette and busies himself with it, watching Ryder from far enough to not be noticed.

It’s pathetic. And he wishes he could be back on Kadara, back in his VIP lounge, three glasses into a decently aged bottle of whiskey. Hell, even that asari swill they call wine would do. Anything to forget this clusterfuck of an infatuation, to break, even temporarily, this damned hold that Ryder has over him. But that’s not what’s going to happen.

Reyes takes a deep breath. Ryder is still talking with Keri T'Vessa, just the two of them now. The crowd thins a bit. Most of the troops head towards the Hyperion, to gather their strength, some of the shuttles take off. Reyes lingers. It doesn’t go unnoticed. 

It doesn’t take much time when a familiar turian stops by him, casually lifting a hand in a greeting. “Not staying for the celebrations?” Her mandibles flare in a turian approximation of a polite smile. “Reyes.”

“Vetra.” Reyes takes his eyes off Ryder slowly, doesn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t looking. “Waiting for Scott?”

She nods, her expression turns thoughtful. “They gave him a couple of hours to clean up before the banquet,” she offers. “But as you can see, he’ll probably spend them talking to the press.” It isn’t hard to read turians, even without hearing the sub-harmonics. The erratic movement of their mandibles is pretty telling when you know what to look for. She sounds genuine. But it would be against Reyes’ nature, to trust that easily. 

“No rest for the Pathfinder, huh?”

She tilts her head to the side, considers him for a moment before changing the subject. “You know. Scott made me stay behind, because of my sister,” She adds apropos of nothing. “Said, I had someone to live for.”

Reyes’ hand spasm, finger loosening around the cigarette. Not for the first time, Ryder’s words return to him as a persistent echo. Tomorrow, I could be dead and buried. Reyes wishes he could say it doesn’t affect him.

His silence is apparently a sufficient response, because Vetra continues. “I suppose he thinks he doesn’t,” she says, sounding pleased with herself for getting a satisfying response out of Reyes. “Just... thought you should know.”

The interview seems to be finished. Keri steps away from Ryder with a final, fleeting glance. She looks at the him as if he hung the stars and Reyes can’t help but think whether Ryder can see the same expression on his face. 

“Well, be seeing you.” With a last, sidelong glance, Vetra goes off to join Ryder. Together, they walk towards the Ark. Ryder doesn’t look back.

Suddenly exhausted, Reyes leans against his shuttle. He finishes his cigarette, holds the smoldering fag tightly between his fingers for a long time after that.

XXX

When Ryder emerges from his room, it’s already well past noon. He enters the hall almost reluctantly. If he is surprised to see Reyes here, he doesn’t show it.

Reyes takes a long sip of the champagne. “Well, if it isn’t the hero of the hour,” he greets, far more cheerfully than he though he could muster. He mimes a toast, drinks the rest of his drink in one go.

Up close Ryder seems rested, though tense and on edge. The bruises around his face have faded yet his dull, pale eyes are glassy, a clear indication of too many drugs running through his system. Understandable, considering the injuries.

When Ryder answers, it’s quiet. “I thought you’d be back on Kadara.”

The pleasant buzz of alcohol isn’t enough to loosen Reyes up. “And miss the party?” He asks, cheeks straining from the forced grin. “You know me better than that.”

Ryder purses his lips around the inevitable '_Do I?'_ But for some reason, he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he clears his throat. “I guess you’ll be heading out soon?”

“Still a lot to do,” Reyes nods distractedly. There’s something guarded about Ryder, a sort of caution that Reyes doesn’t like. He knows that they are going to be stuck in this limbo if he lets Ryder make all the decisions himself. “I have something you might be interested in,” he adds, twirling the empty glass in his hand.

Skeptical, Ryder looks him up and down with a single brow raised. His gaze catches at the hem of Reyes’ shirt but he quickly looks away.

Reyes flashes a quick, pleases smirk. “That too,” he says, the smile finally reaching his eyes. “Find me later. You know where I’ll be.”

Before Ryder can even think of an answer to that, a wave of laughter disrupts their conversation. They both turn their heads to see the source of the unexpected outburst.

A couple of feet away, a group of clearly inebriated soldiers dances madly, drinks in hand, bouncing off the nearest wall to the rhythm of a too fast-paced song.

“Do you want to join?” Reyes asks, catching Ryder’s eye. An expression of deep amusement crosses his face before he can finish the thought.

Ryder watches the display with a slight frown, clearly unimpressed. “Do you?”

“Maybe,” Reyes shrugs, bites his lower lip to stifle a laugh. “I’ll save you a dance.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have a song in mind,” Reyes continues, with that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Unless you want to go somewhere now? I know a place.”

Ryder rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch in a barely hidden amusement. “Of course you do.”

For a moment, they are both distracted, watching the dancers in silence. Ryder looks away first this time, his smile faltering.

“What’s wrong?” Reyes puts his free hand on Ryder’s shoulders, looking at him with concern.

Ryder's breath catches but his expression turns conflicted. “Reyes, I--”

“Pathfinder!” An unwelcome, high-pitched voice reaches over to them and Ryder stiffens at the sound of it. “There you are.” Jarun Tann stands near the stairs, watching them with his big, slimy eyes. Once he notices Reyes, he makes no move to come closer.

Reyes cocks his head to the side. “My offer still stands,” he says, catching Ryder’s hand, just below the sleeve.

“Now I wish I said yes,” Ryder admits, taking a step away, breaking the touch.

“Wait,” Reyes blurts out before Ryder can turn away. “What were you trying to say?”

Ryder’s eyes widen and a light flush spreads itself high over his cheeks. “Oh, nothing,” he stammers. “Nothing important. See you later.”

Reyes breathes through his nose. Quizzical, he follows Ryder with his eyes. When both the Pathfinder and Tann are gone, he reaches for another glass of champagne.

A moment later, an intoxicated pair stumbles to a halt next to the table, carrying on with their cheerful conversation. Reyes sips his drink, drones out the chatter until he hears Ryder being mentioned.

“I haven't seen the journalist anywhere.” The man shouts over the music. “Shouldn’t she be with the Pathfinder?”

“You mean Keri T'Vessa? Well, I guess she’s done for the day. I mean, you saw the interview. It’s out before any other station, as always.”

“Well, it’s expected, isn’t it? When you have an important boyfriend.”

The asari downs her drink and regards her companion with a puzzled expression. “What? What do you mean?”

“You haven’t heard?” The man lowers his voice to a whisper. “Okay, so you know that my brother works in the maintenance, right?”

“Yeah, but what does it have to do with anything?”

“Well, his coworker says, that Ryder busted Keri out of jail.” A beat of silence follows before he speaks again. “And why would he do that, if they weren’t together?”

The asari laughs. “That’s a stretch.”

“That’s not all. Apparently, they are often seen in The Vortex together. And, Ryder was spotted leaving her apartment. Several times.”

“Alright. But why would they keep it secret? _If_ it’s even true.”

“That’s easy. Can you imagine the outrage on the Extranet if people found out about it? There would be accusations of favoritism, biased news, all the like.”

“So they kept it on the low?”

“Exactly. But now that the stuff’s done they’ll probably become official soon.”

“Okay. Now that you said it, I think you might be right--”

The conversation halts abruptly. Reyes blinks, looks around with a furrowed brow, as though only now realizing his surroundings. But only when a few more heads turn in his direction Reyes, at last, takes note of the broken flute he’s clutching in his fist.

With a jerky gesture, he shakes the shards and the leftover liquor off his skin. Small pieces of glass fall to his feet with a dull sound, bouncing off obliquely and landing on top of his shoes.

“Someone had too much to drink,” the asari murmurs as Reyes walks past her on his way to the exit.

The air outside is brisk and fresh, without even a hint of sulfur. It suffocates Reyes all the same when he draws in a staggering breath. He hurries up to his shuttle, yanks the door open and all but falls on his chair, yanking the console open. One quick flick of his hand brings the shuttle to life as the engine starts with a roar.

And that’s when it really hits him. The worst thing is that everything starts to make sense. But what was he expecting? The excuses, the indecision. That explains why Ryder cared so much about the rumors. And Reyes though he was just embarrassed. Turns out he was scared his _girlfriend_ would hear about them. 

And how fucking stupid Reyes was, how exceptionally naïve. _We had our fun_. Fucking shit. Ryder had told him before, didn’t he? They had fun, just fun. How come Reyes didn’t catch on earlier?

Reyes struggles to open a pack of cigarettes, tries to pull one but it tumbles to the ground. He swears, uses his freed hands to massage his temples.

Was that what Ryder wanted to say earlier? I got my trills fucking with an outcast, now I am going to settle down with someone who’s a safe choice. Was he ashamed of Reyes? Or was it all a rouse, a back-handed way to get Reyes back for lying? What, he couldn’t shot him in the back so he decided to hit him where it hurts?

“My bad,” Reyes mutters, staring through the front glass in the direction of Hyperion. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

The lights on the console glimmer with a sharp, white light, creating distinctive shadows inside the small interior of the cockpit. Reyes wipes his palm on his trousers, cleaning off traces of dried blood he didn’t notice earlier, then he punches in the coordinates. 

Whatever Ryder plan was, he can be sure that Reyes isn’t going to take it lying down. And if Ryder thought he could leave Reyes for some small-time journalist after everything they’ve been through, he can think again.


	10. From the Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I say 10 chapters? I meant 11, obviously. And yeah, I completely ignored the issue with Ryder’s mother because I don’t care. I mean I do, but it was done so badly I’d rather not mention it. 
> 
> Also, masturbation is a thing that happens. So if you’re not into that kind of thing, skip the ending, right after Ryder leaves.

“I doubt it’d take much to make her disappear,” Keema suggests half-seriously, sipping on her drink. “She's been jailed for what, two weeks before someone noticed?” 

“Two and a half,” Reyes huffs, drumming his fingers on the datapad. But that’s not the point. 

“Semantics.” Keema waves her hand flippantly. “I mean, how hard would it be to frame a journalist for something she didn’t do? Especially with all the dirt, you managed to find on her.”

It’s partially true. For the very few actually interesting details about Keri T’Vessa that Reyes’ contacts managed to secure, there’s an entire, twelve pages long dossier of nothing worth of note. Like old medical cards, references, that kind of thing. As for the rest, Reyes had to find it himself. It took some searching but Reyes is nothing if not thorough. And so his collection grew. A few reports there, security footage here and a bunch of hacked e-mails, courtesy of T’Vessa’s own producer - Hakim Barakat. Very talkative, that one. Then again, anyone would be, after four laced shots of special stock vodka. All that, and Reyes still knows less than nothing about T’Vessa and her possible entanglements with Ryder. 

Hacking Pathfinder’s terminal was obviously out of question, but hacking Keri’s, well, that’s a different matter entirely. Ryder’s messages to her were brief, very formal, nothing to raise suspicion. But he’s never been exactly... enthusiastic, over the mail, so it may be inconsequential. On the other hand, both Dutch Smith and Anan T'Mari deny seeing Ryder and Keri together, and even if they are lying, The Vortex’s footage doesn’t. 

The security footage from Nexus, however, shows Ryder entering an apartment number 2579C at 4:37pm on Monday, 10th of May, 2819. Nothing more for the next fifteen minutes, then at 4:52pm Ryder comes back and goes straight to the docking bay, no detour, no phone calls, no nothing.

Reyes hates to be unreasonable, especially without even a shred of solid evidence, but he knows from experience what can be done in fifteen minutes in an empty apartment, no bed required. Even though Ryder’s clothes were as pristine as when he came inside, hair brushed back off his eyes, not a strand sticking out of place. So, either the sex was spectacularly bad, or nothing had really happened.

“It won’t take more than two days to get her out of Meridian and back to her cozy, little cell on Nexus,” Keema continues, unconcerned about Reyes’ internal debate.

“What, so Scott can bail her out? Again.” With a deep sight, Reyes throws the useless datapad on a chair and reaches for his glass only to push it away from himself at the last moment.

Keema blinks incredulously. “It’s Serrice Ice Brandy,” she points out in case Reyes somehow forgot what he’s ordered.

“You can have it.” 

Reyes slides the glass further in Keema’s direction, while she watches him in bewilderment. “Oh,” she mutters, looking at the abandoned glass then back up. “This is serious.”

Resting the back of his head on the sleek, screechy leather of his couch, Reyes closes his eyes. Outside, the sun starts to rise, which means that the chances of getting a quick shut-eye before work have officially dropped to a big, fat zero. In the wake of the joined success of angaran forces and the Initiative, the weapon trade surprisingly skyrocketed, which made Kadara the perfect spot for under-the-counter business transactions. Between dealing with his less legitimate work and actual smuggling, all the remaining time Reyes spends shuffling between drinking alone in his room and drinking alone in his VIP lounge.

When he opens his eyes, Keema is already hunched over the datapad, eyes flickering back and forth over the screen. 

“Alright,” she says, then places the datapad gently on the desk in front of herself. “Let me start from the beginning. You heard a rumor about the Pathfinder and the journalist on the banquet. Is that right?.”

“Yes,” Reyes sighs, impatient, scrunching his face. “I told you that already.”

“From a pair of drunk celebrants?”

Squinting his eyes, Reyes sends Keema a dirty look. She snorts, then laughs out loud, hiding her mouth behind the palm of her hand. 

“A rumor,” she wheezes when she’s done. “_A rumor_, Reyes. Do you know how many rumors you can find about the Pathfinder and his possible partners--”

“Yes. I am aware.” Reyes crosses his arms over his chest, leaning forward in his seat. “But there are baseless rumors and there is.. that.”

_"That _being a fifteen minutes long visit? You realize how that sounds?”

“You haven’t seen how she looked at him, Keema. And guess who he spoke to, after the fight with the Archon?” With a dull slap, Reyes sets his hands flat down on the desk.“ To her,” he spits the word as if it burns his tongue. “Not his friends, not his squad that he left behind, not his doctor, not--”

“You. Is that it?” Keema passes to Reyes his still full glass and this time he doesn’t look down on it. He takes a long swallow, then another one, and another, until the glass is empty. “When you don’t care, you don’t care,” Keema breathes out, shaking her head. “But when you do, you go overboard.”

With a loud laugh that borders on a whine, Reyes leaves his glass to balance itself on a chair. “Thank you for pointing that out.” The smile he gives Keema is tight and uncomfortable. “Say, did I ask you to come here?”

Letting a heavy sigh through her nostrils, Keema refills her own glass, then places the bottle on her side, out of Reyes’ reach. Ice brandy isn’t Keema’s drink of choice, but in her opinion, Reyes doesn’t deserve another glass if he’s going to throw it back like it’s some cheap, second-grade liquor.

Another thing he doesn’t deserve is to be treated so coldly by the Pathfinder. Keema wouldn’t say it outright, after all, she always tries to stay away from problems than don’t involve her personally. She cannot fault Ryder for his initial reaction, but she hoped, that in time, he too, would see past Reyes lies, past the bravado. She didn’t expect it to happen so fast. Didn’t predict that the results would be disastrous.

“You know, at first it was amusing,” she says, turning in her chair to look at Reyes face to face. “When you were obsessing over him. Then just... For a time, it was nice, seeing you in love.” 

A mixture of regret and anguish crosses Reyes’ features but he schools his expression back until it resembles something more neutral. “Can we not?”

Keema tsks, looking around the room for the first time since she came inside. The half-way drawn blinds, the unmade bed and several stacks of datapads and vids scattered around. 

“What are you doing to yourself?” She asks, jerking her chin in the direction of the closest pile. “Keeping tabs on him I understand. But checking everyone who spoke to him twice?” She thrusts her hands in the air. “So she has a crush on him, big deal. There are people with similar interests towards you and I don’t see Ryder wreaking havoc over it.”

That notion is enough to sour Reyes’ mood. Mostly because it’s true. After all, Ryder never asked him about Zia, didn’t seem to even care. Reyes told himself that Ryder likely though it would be illogical to ask, and that’s why he never did, but what if he actually didn’t give a fuck?

His thoughts must have broadcast all over his face, bright like neon on a moonless night because Keema groans and calls him something not exactly flattering under her breath, then slumps back in her seat, defeated.

“Maybe you two should have a talk, hmm? Now that the Archon is dead and Ryder doesn’t have an excuse to ignore your messages?”

“I will.” Reyes raises his chin defiantly, a spark of his old confidence shining through the crack of his tired expression. “As soon as he starts actually responding-”

“Alright. Whatever you do, deal with that before another journalist comes along and the urge to put a leash on your boyfriend wins,” she jokes, stiffing a laugh behind her glass. “It’s all about honesty, you see. If he’ll decide to trust you despite your...occupation, then you should trust him that no matter how many interviews he--”

Reyes pinches the bridge of his nose. “Glad to see you’re having fun.” 

Taking another, slow sip of her drink, Keema shrugs delicately with one arm. “Well, I am sorry, but you’re looking like a kicked... what is that animal again, a cow?”

“A dog.”

“Yes, that.” Keema snaps her fingers, moves the glass from one hand to another. “Look, Reyes. The only choice you have is to talk to him.” With her free hand, Keema shoves the datapad towards Reyes. “As for T’Vessa. We could take care of her more... permanently, if you’d like. Just in case?”

Reyes opens his mouth, snapping it shut as soon as a sound of loud, purposeful footsteps reaches his ears. “Kian,” he tells Keema when she sends him a questioning look. He doesn’t bother to lift his eyes.

There are three people in Andromeda willing to come to Reyes’ house uninvited. One of them is currently off Kadara, the second one sits by his desk, drinking brandy, and the third one brought the brandy in the first place. Easy as that.

Still, when the door slides open, Keema’s eyes dart to the familiar silhouette visible in the growing gap. Pale, blue eyes, the same, expressionless face, down to the white, pressed overalls. 

“What is that human saying,” she whispers to Reyes, on an exhale. “Talk of the devil?” Then, loudly, she exclaims. “Ryder! It’s been too long.”

Reyes jerks up, turning so fast his head looks like a blurred smudge. Lost for words, he stares at Ryder with hard, unreadable eyes. His mouth presses into a thin line.

“Keema,” Ryder returns the greeting with a small, polite smile. “Good to see you.” 

Raising from her seat, Keema takes with her both her glass and the bottle. She sincerely doubts either will be missed. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. As she passes Ryder by, she adds in a low whisper, “good luck, Pathfinder.”

Ryder watches her leave with one brow raised, puzzled. But as soon as the door closes, he moves to take the vacated seat.

“You weren’t at Tartarus, so...” he shrugs, taking a subtle glance around the room. It looks exactly like it did the last time he’d been there; dark, cramped, so he quickly focuses back on Reyes. When their eyes meet, his timid smile grows wider, eager. “You wanted to show me something?”

The silence stretches for long while and eventually Ryder’s smile freeze. Reyes stares at him impassively, cataloging every shift in his expression. Finally, he points at the lone datapad, in the middle of the desk but tugs it to himself, keeps it pinned underneath his fingers. 

“Why don’t you tell me something first?” Keeping his gaze steady on Ryder, Reyes props his chin on one hand.  
  
In the gray, cold light, shining through the blinds, Ryder’s complexion seems dull, almost lifeless. The tell-tale bruises under his eyes tell Reyes, that Ryder wasn’t doing much resting himself.   
  
A deep line shows between Ryder’s brows as he steals a glance at the turned-off datapad. “What’s going on?”   
  
Reyes makes a habit of encrypting his document at least thrice. It’s enough to be a challenge even for the most complex AI, like SAM. For a couple of minutes, at least.  
  
Reyes’ swallows against the burning dryness in his throat. He had everything prepared. Word for word what he needs to say to Ryder, as soon as he sees him. Starting from, Do you have something to tell me? Ending on, .   
  
But those carefully chosen sentences disappear from his mind in a puff of smoke, and what actually comes out of his mouth is, “Does your girlfriend know you’re cheating on her?”   
  
The look on Ryder’s face is a familiar one. His face scrunches in confusion as if he’s trying to figure out if he misheard the question.   
  
“It’s not like I mind, really,” Reyes presses on. A thick knot ties itself at the bottom of his stomach. The lie weighs on him like a heavy stone. “I just thought I’d ask.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
With two, quick taps, the screen lights up. Reyes takes his hand away as a cue for Ryder to reach for the datapad himself. Which he does, immediately.  
  
Ryder’s eyes grow comically wide as he reads, scrolling down the last page until there’s nothing more left to read. His jaw slacks and he has to swallow a few times to get his voice back. When he looks up at Reyes’ pinched expression, a realization dawns on him at least.  
  
“What,” Ryder’s lips draw back in a snarl. All the gentleness is gone from his features. “You thought you fucked me up so bad I had to fuck around to get you out of my head?” He reels back fast enough to set the chair toppling behind him. It hits the floor with a dull pang. “It may have escaped your notice but I was actually fucking busy.”  
  
Ryder’s voice is filled with disbelief and hurt. Even without a fancy AI in his head, Reyes can tell that Ryder’s confusion is genuine. The relief strikes Reyes instantaneously, hard enough to render him breathless.   
  
And apparently mindless as well, because the next thing he says is, “busy keeping people at bay?” The leftover adrenaline stretches over his body, gripping tightly. “Let me guess, you suspected every single person of wanting to screw you over so you just didn’t let them close.”   
  
Ryder laughs. A mirthless, bitter sound cuts through the tension like a well-sharpened knife. “Well, I tried it once, looks I was right.”   
  
“No, get out of your bubble,” Reyes pushes himself up, raises on his feet to level Ryder with a glare. “I told you before. I wanted to use you, but I’d give you your outpost and info in return. I lied to you by omission only and just about the Charlatan business. I never intended to screw you over. Screw you? Yes, hopefully, but--”  
  
Ryder narrows his eyes into slits. His face turns scarlet from anger. “I can’t believe you thought I’d be okay with that.”

“I knew you wouldn’t! That’s why I didn’t tell you earlier,” Reyes argues, defensive. He circles the desk, stops close to Ryder. “You couldn’t stand me, remember? When we first meet. Then somehow we got closer, you let me in--”

“A mistake on my part,” Ryder cuts in, reeling away. But he doesn’t escape far. Reyes catches his arm, tugs him right back.

Reyes refuses to dignify that with a response. “And I fell for you against my better judgment,” he says instead, with all the honestly he can gather. “And I had to make sure that you’d stay with me.” Carefully, he reaches for Ryder’s hand, clasping it in his own. “I mean it, Scott. I’d do anything.”

It’s surprisingly easy to admit. And it’s true. Reyes knows it, and so does Ryder because he freezes.

“You’re a piece of shit, Reyes,” Ryder mutters, but his words hold no meaning. His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a gulp of air after another. Slowly, he surrenders and entwines their fingers together. His smile is a mirror parallel to the one he gave Reyes months ago on the rooftop. That soft, dazzling one. When he speaks again, his voice is weak and breathy. “You made a dossier on Keri because you thought I was sleeping with her?”

Locking his eyes with Ryder’s, Reyes makes no move to break the contact. “Not my finest moment,” he admits, sheepishly.

“It’s in your top three. Between ditching me on a party and... well, everything else,” Ryder shrugs, tilting his head to the side. He watches Reyes with quiet amusement. “Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, ask me about it?”

“Yeah, because that would go well,” Reyes snorts, the corners of his mouth turning down. “You refused to speak with me unless you were drunk or I had my hand down your pants--”

Reyes cheeks darken.“That’s not true.”

“No? You never tell me anything, you don’t answer my messages. I had to lie to get you to come here--”

“Alright. I get it. Sorry.” Ryder grimaces, looks away. “I am. I--” His eyes land on the discarded datapad and his brows furrow. “What were you going to do with that?” He asks, bringing the dossier back to Reyes’ attention.

It’s obvious there is at least a million other things Reyes would rather talk about, but for the sake of Ryder’s curiosity, he makes himself answer. “I’d... send T’Vessa a message, ask her not to bother you.”

Ryder barks out a short laugh. Knowing Keri, she would not only publicly read the message, make a reportage out of it, then ask Ryder for his comment and possible help with tracking the anonymous sender.

Before he can say just that, Ryder feels himself being pulled closer, so that he’s almost chest-to-chest with Reyes. For a long, draw out second, Reyes just stares, intently at Ryder's face. 

The close scrutiny makes Ryder shiver as a cold sweat breaks over his skin. He stammers, “You can just, you know, give her a statement. I mean, I don’t think you have to, I--”

Reyes lets go of Ryder’s hand to slide a thumb under Ryder’s jaw, slowly, languidly, like there’s nothing he’d rather do that trail his fingers over Ryder’s burning skin. He tilts Ryder’s chin upwards and lightly moves him so they face each other. With his other hand, buried tightly in Ryder’s soft hair, Reyes forces him to stay still and hold his gaze. “What did you want to tell me back on Hyperion?” 

Ryder’s eyes flash lightening-quick to Reyes’ lips, then, just as fast, over to where Reyes’ keeps the steady hold on him. His gaze loses its focus, like he’s suddenly lost, stuck somewhere else.

Before he manages an answer, he swallows audibly. “Wh--what do you think I was going to say?” He chuckles weakly, looking over Reyes’ shoulder, avoiding his eyes. They are pressed so closely he can feel his words rumble against Reyes’ chest. “I wanted to--” He mumbles, heat slowly rising to his face. “I just--” 

Reyes’ eyes crinkle at the corners, the warm brown of his irises thins, making way for the blown-out pupils. He wants to close the gap between them, they both do. But the ever-growing, leisured smile he’s sprouting is an obvious sign that he doesn’t plan on making it easy for Ryder, won’t let him go, without an answer. 

So Ryder does the only thing he can think of. He grabs Reyes’ by the front of his shirt, hooks his fingers deep into the cotton and in one swift motion tugs Reyes down, fast enough he has no chance to react before it’s done. Their lips touch, a brief, skin on skin contact. And it’s electrifying.

As far as distractions go, Reyes is willing to let this one slide. 

It’s a quick thing and Reyes' initial surprise doesn't take long to wear off. He pushes Ryder back as soon as they part, crowds him against the desk. He bites on Ryder’s lip until he opens his mouth again, then, he pushes his tongue inside - all heat, no finesse - to deepen the kiss. Taking over, Reyes kisses him in a slow, drugged fashion, all whilst his hands slide up Ryder’s sides, fitting over his hips as if they belong there.

The curve of Ryder’s spine aches with the pressure as Reyes pushes into him. He is acutely aware of all the places their bodies touch. They are clasped so tightly he can hear his own pulse and Reyes’ answering heartbeat as if they were one and the same. Their heavy breathing echoes in the small bedroom. The sounds they both make are loud enough to drown almost everything else.

Almost.

“Scott.” SAM’s voice is like a cold splash of water. It’s devoid of emotions, completely detached. A harsh wake-up call, in the abrupt silence. “You have an incoming call from Dr. Carlyle.”

It doesn’t seem to register at first. But when it does, Ryder all but wrenches himself from Ryder’s arms. He steps away, abruptly, bumps into a chair, swears under his breath even as he raises two fingers to his face. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ugh, yes,” he rasps and it comes out so strangled he has to clear his throat. “Yes?”

He looks wrecked, with his wet, reddened lips and mussed hair. Achingly flushed, painfully desirable.

Shameless, Reyes leans his back against the desk, feeling Ryder’s lingering eyes. With a deep inhale, he reaches to the front of his trousers, adjusts himself with a slow, precise movement.

“I-- Yes. Yes, I am listening, I was--” Ryder takes another step back to put some distance between them, just in case. But as he listens, his face falls. “I understand.”

Reyes lets his hands fall to his sides. He knows that expression, recognizes that tone. 

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Ryder takes a shuddering breath, drags a hand over his face. “I’ll be there shortly.” He’s still listening but for a moment takes his hand off the comm. “It’s about Sara, sorry,” he mouths to Reyes apologetically.

“Okay,” Reyes says, because what’s else he’s supposed to do.

Ryder turns to the door but hesitates. He looks back at Reyes, face set, determined. “Can you find your way to Ditaeon?”

“Yes?” Reyes answers, though he’s not sure whether the question is rhetorical or no.

“Then I’ll see you there.” With two quick steps, Ryder comes closer, rests his hands on Reyes’ chest, over the rumpled shirt and catches his lips in one, last kiss. “Bring me that bottle of Elasa you promised,” he adds with a cheeky smile, before pushing himself back, towards the exit.

The door clicks shut. Reyes laughs.

His mouth tingles. He raises a hand, touches his lower lip, still warm and slick with saliva. Ryder’s footsteps quiet down to a murmur, soon to be silenced completely. But his scent lingers in the room, over Reyes’ skin. He can taste the hint of Ryder’s energy drink and arousal in his mouth, over his tongue, heady and choking. He’s drunk on it, delirious.

Reyes strides to the back of his room with purposeful steps. Dropping to the edge of his bed, he kicks his trouser down until they’re tangled somewhere around his knees. Pressing his face close to the mattress, he bites on a crease of his sheets, clenches his teeth over it so hard it actually hurts. It does nothing to elevate the sudden and insufferable heat that overcomes him.

Without a moment of further thought, he pushes his hand past the waistband of his pants and squeezes, mouth falling open with a wet gasp. A deep pleasure surges through his body as he desperately tries to muffle the small, choked off moans with his free hand. He sucks in a finger, gets it nice and wet but it’s not enough, not even remotely, so he fits two more alongside the first one until he’s gagging on them. It’s a poor substitute for what he really wants but he’ll make do with what he has. Like he always does.

His hips start to move in small abortive thrusts. He replaces the hand he has on his cock with the wet one, tries to mimic the peace Ryder used on him back in Tartarus, months ago, imagines his hands, rough and gun-callused, fast, unforgiving. 

Lost in the fantasy, he doesn’t notice when he starts to gasp Ryder’s name into the crook of his arm. The air quickly fills with the unmistakable sounds of slick sweat sliding on slippery skin. Reyes feels the tension starts to build up in the pit of his stomach then spread lower, hot like molten lava.

“Fuck, Scott,” he whines, sinking his teeth into the meat of his arm. His release hits him fast, leaves him dizzy with it as he finishes with a guttural whimper, hips pressed tightly to the mattress.

He lies there for far longer than he needs to, breathing in and out, eyes squeezed shut. With his clean hand, still trembling from the exertion, he reaches for his omnitool, searches for Ryder’s name in his contact list.

_ Thinking of you_, he writes, adds his name underneath. 

And hits send.


	11. An End Once and For All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, happy endings are harder to write than I thought. I'd rather write angst, ugh, in case you somehow couldn’t tell.  
I really appreciate your thoughts and comments. If there’s anything you particularly liked or disliked about this fic or if you have any pointers, do let me know.

“Oh my god.” Ryder falls back on the bed with a groan. The not-so-pristine-anymore sheets cling to his wet skin like glue, tangled between his legs, blessedly cold against his overheated skin.

“What’s that?” Reyes asks, scrapping his teeth lightly over Ryder’s hip. He does his best to keep the glee out of his voice but he wouldn’t be able to wipe the satisfied smile that stretches over his face even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. “Do you need a break?”

Ryder’s chest raises sharply underneath Reyes’ hands. If his eyes weren’t scrunched shut, he would be rolling them to high heavens. “You’re not _that_ good, Reyes.” 

“Oh?” Reyes waits with an answer until Ryder opens his eyes. For a moment there’s nothing more important than the washed-out blue of Ryder’s eyes, the lingering taste of tobacco on his lips and their echoing breaths. “Should I try again?” Reyes asks, at last. Because telling Ryder, ‘That’s not what you said earlier,” would be a tad too cliche, even for him. 

When Ryder returns his gaze, Reyes doesn't look away even as he reaches to circle his fingers around Ryder’s softening cock.

“Jesus,” Reyes whines, turning on his side, mushing his head in a pillow, hair soaked with sweat and plastered to his neck. “Down boy.”

Reyes laughs once, short and sharp. “Fine, fine.”

Feeling the strain in his forearms, Reyes lets himself follow down, sprawling half on top of Ryder. He shuts his eyes and pushes his forehead against Ryder's throat and just breathes for a moment, the scent of sex heady in the air. He grows restless soon, and he presses his lips on the closest patch of skin he can reach, licking the salt off Ryder’s neck, lapping over the bruises he made earlier, then kisses his way down Ryder's jawline to his chest. 

Ryder grunts a heartfelt warning when Reyes slides lower, to pepper small kisses down his sternum, and lower still, to lick the specks of come off his abdomen. He shivers underneath Reyes’ hands, breathing hard and deep. 

Reluctant as he is to admit, Reyes has to agree, that this overdue reunion was worth even the insufferable i-told-you-so smile Keema has sent his way earlier this morning. Though, he can’t imagine that this outcome was something Ryder expected to happen. Between their talk on the banquet and everything that came after, Reyes had his moments of doubt too. 

Ryder’s abrupt gasp tears Reyes away from his thoughts. He shifts away, just enough to be able to look Ryder in the eye, but when he looks at him, Ryder's attention is focused on the locked door, or, rather the voices coming from outside the room. The muffled conversation doesn’t sound urgent, the noise is barely audible. Still, a pang of unease settles itself low in Reyes’ stomach at the intense look of concentration Ryder’s sprouting on his face.

“You’re not going to leave now?” Reyes’ question turns out a little less steady than he tries for. And when it’s out of his mouth, it’s too late to mask it with humor. 

“It’s my room, so...” Ryder mumbles, moving his eyes back to Reyes, and, seeing his pinched expression, he finally catches on. He grimaces slightly, then moves his hand to brush the wet strands of hair out of Reyes’ face and behind his ear. “I am sorry, I wasn’t really--”

Reyes pushes his head further into the touch, settling down only when Ryder threads his fingers through his hair, short nails scraping his scalp. “It’s fine,” he breathes out. “I suppose I deserved some of this.”

“No-- Well, yes, but--” Ryder groans as all the right words seem to elude him. He takes his hand out of Reyes’ hair and runs it over his shoulder and down his arm. Their fingers entwine easily, palms pressing together so tight their joined heartbeats pulsate between them. “I meant that I am sorry for being so immature about... the whole thing. I wasn’t sure if you weren’t just, you know, jerking me around.”

Reyes bristles, stares at Ryder with wide eyes, like he can’t really believe his words. Then, hesitantly, he argues. “It was pretty obvious, Scott...” 

“Was it?”

It’s hard to stay mad, here, like this. And they will have time enough to argue about it later. With that in mind, Reyes shakes his head, then looks at Ryder with that quiet contentment he’d never thought he would feel. 

“For everyone but you apparently.”

“I didn’t want to leap to conclusions,” Ryder rambles, face heating up. “I am prone to seeing things that aren’t there. I didn’t want to let it happen to me again, so quickly after I--” He stops himself, snapping his mouth shut with a clash. He recovers quickly enough and when he speaks again, he levels Reyes with a heated glare. “You weren’t that forthcoming either.”

It’s an old argument. Reyes lets out a harsh breath, tightening his hold on Ryder’s hand. “Would you even believe me if I told you?” He doesn’t let the accusation distract him, however. “And what do you mean again?”

Ryder winces, and then just sort of stares blankly to the side for a solid minute. His features shift from regret to anger in five seconds flat, only to settle on that familiar blank expression. “Alright. So,” he swallows. “Do you remember the night after Slane’s party?”

“In vivid details.”

Ryder let out this startled, little noise, a bastard child of irritation and amusement. He scrunches his nose in irritation, which, considering his state of post-coital undress is far more endearing than threatening. 

“When you asked me why I came to Andromeda and I said for my father.” 

Reyes tilts his head slightly to show that he’s listening, but remains silent.

“Yeah, well, I lied. Partially.” Ryder draws his lower lip between his teeth and bites, hard, as though to ground himself. “Back then, before everything, I was assigned to an outpost, near Relay 202.” 

Reyes nods, moves his thumb over Ryder’s knuckles in a slow, comforting gesture. “Arcturus, right?” 

“Right,” Ryder manages a strained, uncomfortable smile at the memory. “I was stoked. At first. It was dangerous but mostly boring as hell. Guard duty, patrols, that kind of thing.” He pauses, chews on his lower lip until it’s red and glistening with saliva. He lets it out with a pop when he’s ready to continue. “But I was there with... a friend. We knew each other for years, went to the same academy.” A small, painful laugh ripples through him. “We were planning to do our N7 together and everything.” 

_ That_, Reyes didn’t expect. “Oh.” Irritation pricks at him, gnawing and insistent. A friend, that for some reason didn’t make it to Andromeda with Ryder. Only two reasons for that. Easy to imagine how that story ends.

Ryder frowns slightly, lost in the moment. When he starts again, his voice trembles. “I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t have much choice. After my father was dishonorably discharged, my career was basically ruined as soon as the news broke. Everything-- Everything went to hell. And he...”

“And he left you,” Reyes guesses, though he cannot possibly fathom how somebody could just up and abandon Ryder. Not want to fight for him, tooth and nail. “Just like that?”

“Left me? No.” The thin crease between Ryder’s eyebrows deepens. “He just started to pretend I didn’t exist. And when I finally confronted him... He said I wasn’t useful to him anymore and he didn’t want to tarnish his reputation.” The ugly noise that breaks itself out of his chest is nothing like the amused sarcasm he was going for.

With a sharp motion, Reyes pulls Ryder close, rubs a thumb over his worry-bitten lips. There’s not much he can say, except that it hurts to see Ryder heartbroken over somebody else. Somebody who had the guts to hurt him like that. And there’s nothing Reyes can do now, to make it all better, because the fucker is long gone. It should feel good, comforting, that knowledge, but it doesn’t. 

“I am over it, in case you are wondering.” Ryder’s frown clears. After a long, quiet moment, he adds, with a wide, knowing smile. “And he stayed behind, so you won’t need a dossier on him.”

Reyes snorts, shooting him a wry look. “You’ll never let me live it down.” 

Ryder hums, long and drawn out, pretending to think. “No.” 

He smiles, but it quickly turns somber when he catches a glimpse of Reyes’ pinched expression. Something like doubt flickers across his face, quickly followed by hurt and desperation.

But there is none of that in his voice. “Scott.” Reyes grabs Ryder’s free hand and squeezes, staring at him pleadingly, as if he wanted to erase all the pain, frustrated by his inability to do so. “You know you are more than--”

“I know,” Ryder says, face lighting up. “I don’t regret it,” he says and softness returns to his eyes. “Anything. Coming here, meeting you.”

It pleases Reyes to know, it does, but he has to ask. The past cannot be changed now. Even so, it would hang over them like a storm cloud and he doesn’t want any more grievances between them.

“Would you choose differently, if you knew?”

“No,” Ryder answers easily. There is no doubt he thought about it, perhaps too often. “It was a long, hard journey. But we’re here. We’re home.”

“And now?” Reyes smiles, soft and sweet. “Do you want to settle down?”

“Settle down,” Ryder repeats, like that thought never actually crossed his mind. “I didn’t come here to settle down.” To explore, to hopefully find himself, yes, but not to settle down. “Did you?”

“I suppose I did. In a way.” 

Ryder stretches, bones popping louder that they have any rights to, considering his age. He jostles Reyes' hand in the process. “I don’t think I am the person for it. I’d die of boredom.”

“Well, I can’t have that.” Reyes pushes himself off the bed, places one hand next to Ryder’s side, barely touching. “But, you don’t need to run off to the other side of the galaxy to get your kicks,” he says, looking down at Ryder with warm, glimmering eyes. “You can stay here, when you’re done.” Then, he adds, as if in an afterthought. “Always tons of shit to do on Kadara.”

“Uh-uh?”

“You could always work for the Collective,” he teases. “We could use someone like you.” 

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? It’s not like I already do your dirty work around here anyways.”

“It was one time!”

“One time he says, SAM--”

“Whoa,” Reyes exclaims through a wheeze of half-stifled laughter. “Did nobody tell you that saying another guy’s name when you’re in bed with--”

“Reyes!”

“--someone else is considered a faux-pas?”

Ryder groans. Covers his eyes with hands while Reyes trembles above him, gasping for breath. “You know, you’re far more attractive when you don’t talk,” he sighs through his nose, lets Reyes take his hands away from his face. “Then you open up your mouth--”

“So you do think I am attractive.” Reyes grin turns wide and hungry in a split of a second.

“That’s what you got out of it?” Ryder tries for stern but can’t keep a straight face. 

“I mean it, though,” Reyes starts, when the laughter dies down. “I’d love for you to stay, here.” With me, he doesn’t add. Doesn’t need to.

Ryder nods, smiling but looking suddenly embarrassed. His cheeks turn deep scarlet. “Oh, you know... I guess we’ll have to wait and see, I--” He moves to sit up, eyes already tracing his discarded clothes on the floor. Reyes catches his hand, half-way between locating one shoe and looking for another. He doesn’t budge.

“No, we’re not going to play like that,” he protests, mouth still a broad grin, but eyes shining with a wicked gleam. “I know you love me. You might as well say it.”

Ryder looks up quickly, startled, then away, just as fast. “Jesus, Reyes--”

As charming as Ryder’s bashfulness is, Reyes doesn’t quite have the patience to entertain it. “Don’t play coy, say it.”

Quickly switching from embarrassed defense to cutting offense, Ryder scrambles to form an insult, even as blush spreads further down his chest. “Are you so insecure you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes,” Reyes agrees, curtly. He doesn’t mind baring himself out in the open like that. Not if it’s for Ryder. “I am too shy for that bullshit, I told you before.”

“Why don’t you--”

“I love you.” 

Just like that. Like it’s a no-brainer, like it’s easy. Though, his voice comes out so uncharacteristically soft it renders Ryder speechless.

Ryder blinks, stutters. “I- you--”

“Yes?”

“Oh, fuck off. You know I do, I wouldn't be here if I didn’t, now get off me.”

Reyes knows him too much, to let Ryder run away from this again. He would, given the chance, of that Reyes is sure. “I don’t think I will.”

And Ryder has to know it’s true because he takes a deep, deep breath and holds it in. 

“I love you,” he says, quickly, as though afraid he’s voice would give out. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you, back on Hyperion.” When Reyes doesn’t respond with more than a surprised inhale, Ryder forces himself to look at him again. He takes in the slack-jawed expression, the wide, awestruck eyes. “After you called me, before Meridian. I promised myself that if I survive this, I would tell you as soon as I see you.”

Reyes hears the boom of his own heartbeat in his ears, feels it drum beneath his skin, for once, glad for the small distance that separates him from Ryder. “Why didn’t you?” 

“You kept your distance!” Ryder blurts, remembering the aftermath of his fight with the Archon. The interview. “And then when you came over you didn’t even say a word to me.”

Reyes had his reasons, however idiotic they were. “And later?” He urges, impatiently. “On Hyperion?”

“Are you joking? It was harder to say it out loud. Even worse when I tried to write it down,” Ryder cringes, shoulder slumping in defeat. “I just thought... you had to know, by now.”

Reyes laughs, exasperated. “How? Scott. How could I know when you were pulling me close then pushing me away immediately after.”

“God, Reyes, if I wasn’t in love with you why would I even bother?”

Reyes raises one brow pointedly. His gaze falls on the bared expanse of Ryder’s chest. Then, he shifts his eyes lower, just to see Ryder roll his eyes. 

“Your ego is seriously off the charts if you think amazing sex is worth all that headache.” Ryder stops himself as soon as he sees the small, knowing smile on Reyes’ face. His cheeks darken as realization sets in. 

“Amazing, you say--”

“I take that back, you--”

Taking Ryder by surprise, Reyes silences him quickly, leaning over and kissing him on the lips, hard and fast. It isn’t just the kiss itself that shuts Ryder up, but the feel of it - insistent and hungry, consuming. It’s easy to give in, after that, when Reyes’ hands creep over Ryder’s waist, pushing him further into the mattress. His fingers slipping down Ryder’s thigh slowly enough to make him breathless.

They part for long enough to draw in a short, much-needed breath. Reyes kisses him again, pressing in softly before pulling away. “You were saying?”

Ryder looks back at him, sharply. His eyes, half-mast with pleasure but still focused on Reyes, straying down to his lips, once, twice. Without a word, Ryder gives an annoyed little huff and pulls him in tighter, closer.

“Don’t make me regret it,” he mumbles against his lips, hanging from the last thread of patience.

“I won’t. I promise.” It tumbles out of Reyes’ mouth effortlessly._ I promise_. It’s just a word, after all, one he uses more often than, for example, ‘please’, or ‘duty’. But it is not meaninglessness, far from it. 

He finds himself believing it with a wild kind of ferocity, that was, until now, unknown to him, strange. 

“I promise,” he repeats, out loud.

And this time, he means it.


End file.
